The Gambit Affair
by MLaw
Summary: Illya captured on a mission to rescue an American accused of espionage in East Germany  becomes caught in a tug of war between STASI and KGB  and the CIA has entered the picture  IK must face his own demons. Warning: lang/ torture   # 13 Saga-series AU
1. Chapter 1

"_You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.' You must do the thing you cannot do." -Eleanor Roosevelt_

**"The Gambit Affair"**

Alexander Waverly's plan had gone sour from the start and Napoleon Solo knew it had been a bad idea; but it was not his place to question it. No one questioned the old man's authority. Illya went along with the assignment willingly, doing as usual what he was told to do; though he too was of like mind with his partner.

And now the Russian was in the hands of the STASI, the secret police of the German Democratic Republic; having been captured while on a mission to free an American supposedly being held on espionage charges in East Berlin. Illya had gone there as part of a deal brokered by the C.I.A. for U.N.C.L.E. to retrieve the man, thereby keeping the folks from the "farm" at Langley free of overt involvement in the affair.

The Central Intelligence Agency liked to keep themselves a wash in plausible denialbility. Even though it was common knowledge they were behind many covert operations in the European arena; it was the public face they chose to wear, as if in a delusional way they could pretend they were sqeaky clean and free of being duplicitious. So when the operation failed Illya Kuryakin became their sacrificial lamb, abandoned to take the the fall; the finger of blame pointed at him and U.N.C.L.E. instead of them.

Waverly realized their machinations possessed inherent risks when he agreed to assist the C.I.A. but they were risks that he felt at the time were acceptable.

They greatest of these being that if Kuryakin were to be captured; there was a good chance that his number two agent could ultimately end up in the hands of the KGB. They were never happy about the Directorate's deal with U.N.C.L.E. to supply a Russian representative that would not act as a double agent and spy for his own country. They had as times attempted to convince Kuryakin of the error of his ways but without success, as his loyalties were now to the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. And now his former countrymen had tried the Russian in their own court of law and found him guilty of being a traitor; they being were very much aware of Kuryakin's intention to defect.

While Illya was still a Russian citizen and an agent of the GRU on loan to U.N.C.L.E.; the Glavnoye Razvedyalel'noye Upravleniye, considered him unofficially expendible to Soviet military intelligence.

If KGB got hold of him it was of no consequence to GRU; they would simply provide a replacement for Kuryakin if he were disposed of and continue to receive their intelligence reports from UNCLE as if nothing had happened. Theirs was an attitude of indifference.

It was this divergent posture towards him within the hierarchy of the Directorate that hounded Illya Kuryakin for years. When GRU was in favor, he was left alone. When the pendulum of power swung in the favor of the KGB; he was hounded by them.

He was still GRU and yet he was U.N.C.L.E.; though his loyalty to the latter had been declared by swearing an oath when he joined the organization, and proven by his actions countless times. But because of his GRU affilitions the C.I.A. would not let him be, though he and his partner had helped them out on numerous occasions.

Illya abhorred this sense of being a victim, of being at the mercy of these two adversaries and that was why he made his decison to defect to the United States and to become a citizen.

Another and more important reason for his determination was that of his family. His son Demya was born in America, and was a citizen, his home was there in New York with his wife Elliott and he had every intention of staying there with them as they were his life, his home and his haven from his shaded existence. So defection was a seemingly safe move to ultimately get both the C.I.A and KGB off his back, or so he thought.

His declaration to defect had become all the more reason why the KGB wanted to get their hands on him; once he became a U.S. citizen their attempts to repatriate him had too much potential to cause an international incident between their two governments and would no longer be worth the risk. His capture by the STASI now offered an opportunity the KGB could not pass on.

Upon arriving in German, Illya Kuryakin traveled through the security checkpoints at the Berlin Wall into East Berlin without incident as he had done so on previous missions. He carried false identity papers, identifying him as a German business man, nothing fancy or out of the ordinary as far as cover stories were concerned.

And now he walked quietly down a side street off the Friedrichstrasse to meet his C.I.A. contact as he pulled up the collar of his grey raincoat that matched they dreariness of the day. Everything was grey in this place, the buildings, the sky, even the people. East Berlin always seemed that way to him. It was not his favorite place to say the least.

It was a fairly quiet morning, with but a few people going on about their business in and out of the shops and cafés. He knew of course he that was under surveillance; everyone in East Berlin was watching someone as there was a pervasive sense of paranoia in the city; much less the entire German Democratic Republic for that matter.

It seemed as though every other person was working for the Staatssicheheit_State Security. They employed nearly a quarter of a million people who worked as agents or informers, creating a monolithic spy network that became one of the most effective and repressive intelligence and secret police agencies in the world, rivaling if not surpassing their sister organization, the KGB. Then there were the spies from every conceivable agency in the world there making dirty little deals there with each other. East Berlin was literally a city of spies.

The secret police operated seventeen prison camps through out the country, but unlike the Gestapo methods of torture and executions that preceeded them; the STASI strove for sublety. Their approach was less often to be physically abusive and leaned more towards a mental beating to their prisoners to overwhelm them psychologically. There were no icy gulags as there were in Russia, only cold cells where the minds and souls of their prisoner were numbed with their endless barrage of mental foreplay and misdirection.

Prisoners were held in complete isolation, cut off from the outside world. When death did eventually come, it was by the guillotine or a single shot to the back of the neck. In most cases the relatives of the executed were never even informed of either the sentence or the execution. And like their Nazi forebearers the STASI continued the repression and descrimintion against the Jews and the gypsies...

Illya continued to walk, watching out of the corner of his eye as a man pretended to be sweeping the sidewalk, another reading the news paper as they both cast their subtle glances in his direction. It was easy to spot them as the STASI always, for some reason, wore their hair in crewcuts. The Russian smiled at that.

He had no reason to think they were aware of his mission, as he had just arrived in the city; no these men were just part of the web of intrigue that existed from day to day there and they were watching him as matter of course as they watched everyone.

A white van turned the corner and now seemed to be following him as continued down the sidewalk, trying not to be obvious as he quickly glanced at it. It made him nervous.

The vehicle picked up speed, driving past him, then it's tires screeched to a stopped and a half dozen men leapt out from it; all with their hair shorn in the telltale crewcuts.

He tried to run, dodging his way down the sidewalk but it was no use as they hit him with a tranquilizer dart, sending him careening like a rag doll down to the hard concrete. They lifted his half-conscious body into the sedan then sped off; disappearing down the cobblestone street. No one really paid attention to what had just happened; it wasn't safe to be heedful of the goings on of the STASI.

They arrived at their destination in a part of the city that he did not recognize. Illya was cuffed and fully awake now as they lead him down twisting alleys and concrete-walled courtyards that were unusually empty, giving him an eerie feeling. Finally they arrived at a nondescript building in the center of the compound; one of many in the spider's web of the secret police.

The STASI was superficially granted independence from the KGB in ten years ago, but Moscow maintained liason offices in all eight of the main STASI directorates, each with it's own office inside the Berlin compounds and in each of the fifteen STASI district headquarters in East Germany. The KGB helped create the secret police of the GDR but then the STASI took on a life of it's own, sometimes surpassing their former teachers in their cruel methods.

But it was the presence of the KGB that had Kuryakin worried. He hoped that he would not be turned over to them, as that surely meant his death would be imminent.

The STASI were not quick to kill their prisoners and liked to toy with them like cats with their prey until they were no longer of interest and simply disposed of them; unlike the KGB who would torture and kill quickly.

Unless of course the prisoner was a special case...then that meant a slow death in the gulag. But slow or fast, it was still death. Kuryakin knew he was a special case and wondered how long the anticipated tug of war over him between the STASI and KGB would last before one of them won out? He just hoped for once it would not be the KGB, but he had his doubts.

He looked up at the shield displayed above the door as they dragged him inside; it's motto in German shouting blind Communist pride to him. He found it ironic to think that he once embraced that mentality.

"Shild un Schweit de Parte_shield and sword of the party,"

Illya Kuryakin knew that a new sword of Damocles was about to be dangled over his head.


	2. Chapter 2

Illya was brought to his first of what he was sure was going to be one of many interrogations, as he was put into a featureless room with no windows. Only a buzzing flourescent light that flickered intermittently above his head gave any illumination. The room was furnished with only a simple wooden table, two chairs and of course a desk lamp to shine in his face. That would be just the beginning of the session. The light in the eyes; then who, the what, then where and when questions would follow.

He was handcuffed to the chair facing the wall chair, with each of his arms secured to the arm rests, then left sitting alone with his back to the door. He was sure the solitude was to give him time to develop a sense of nervousness, they probably did this with all prisoners; letting them sit alone and sweat in anticipation, wondering what was to come?

There was acually little he could tell them if he chose to cooperate but of course he would not do that; even though he was very aware the STASI were notorious for their interrogation techniques. But one never really knew what to expect from them as they were quite creative.

They had taken his fingerprints and given he was still listed in the database as GRU; they knew his identity and of course they would also know of his association with U.N.C.L.E. He sighed as he waited, trying to prepare himself for what was to come.

The door finally opened as an older, balding man entered the room, carrying with him a rather thick file, and a white jacket draped over his arm. Illya knew the file was his dossier and was somewhat amused at the thickness of it.

The man placed the jacket on the back of his chair, then the file on the table as he quietly sat in the chair opposite the Russian. Taking out a pair of reading glasses; the man was being very deliberate in his movements as he opened the folder in front of him. He looked it over, thumbing page after page ever so slowly as it were his first time reading them, taking his time; making the Russian watch him in silence.

Illya knew this was strictly for effect, again to increase the level of anticipation, and simply a ruse as his interrogator had already read his file thoroughly.

"You know this really is not necessary. I know you are already familiar with my file. What interrogator would not approach an initial questioning unprepared, especially when facing someone such as myself?" Illya spoke in German.

"Sie sind so sicher, dass Herr Kuryakin_are you so sure of that and yourself Mr. Kuryakin? I have just arrived and had not the time to prepare. So a moment bitte_please, if you would indulge me a moment to read further?"

A few minutes later, he closed the field carefully then removed his reading glasses as he leaned his elbows on the table, touching his fingertips to his lips as his hands were clasped together as if her were in prayer.

He stared at Illya's face for a few moments then smiled rather strangely.

As Illya expected, a few moments later the desk lamp was switched on and the bright light was directed to shine in his eyes, making him squint at the now faceless voice sitting behind it.

"Also sollen sie diese in Deutsher oder Russcher oder Englischer sprach vielleeict_so would you prefer this in German, or Russian or perhaps English?" he smiled.

Illya smiled back at him responding dryly. "Oh please what ever makes you most comfortable, this is after all _your_ interrogation."

"Alright then," he answered in English," we'll start with the basics of course?"

"Of course."

"I know that you are Illya Nickovich Kuryakin, formerly of the GRU and now an agent for the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement."

"No surprises there." Illya quipped.

"What are you doing here in the German Democratic Republic Mr. Kuryakin."

"business...and _you_ are?"

"Oh yes, how rude of me? But my name is of no consequence at the moment and yes, a businessman...that was your cover story wasn't it? So what was the nature of your _business_ then if you insist on playing these word games with me. Why are you here?"

"I am thinking of branching out into a side line... a little extra income to put away for my retirement."

He sniggered at the answer. "And what is that side line...going rogue perhaps? Your current employer would not take kindly to that, but then perhaps we might be interested in engaging your services? If you are indeed doing what you say. He winked at the Russian, suggesting things could be worked out between them.

Illya picked up on that and ran with it; thought he had not planned on the direction the conversation was taking. He quickly decided that it would give him a way of diverting the interrogation to at least prevent it from escalating for the the time being.

"How astute of you to have deduced that fact...that I am going rogue that is." Illya spoke with a tone of sincerity in his voice as he smiled at the man again.

"Interesting? Perhaps you would enlighten me as to this business opportunity of yours then?"

"And what, let you get in on my action? I think not," he paused," One must not give away things without a price...if you get my drift?"

"And what price might that be Mr. Kuryakin?"

"My freedom of course." Illya smiled.

The interrogator squinted, looking at Illya instensely; not taking the Russian's bluff.

"You belong to us now and it is immaterial as to whether you are rogue or not. You entered into our country under false documentation and you are a known spy working for an organization that bases itself in a rival country that is very much against the existence of the GDR. What value do you really think you could be to us?"

Illya shrugged at him. "I assure you U.N.C.L.E. is not opposed to the GDR irregardless where our headquarters is located, just some of the policies it promotes. We do not take political sides, technically speaking."

The interrogator smiled again as he stood, picking up the white jacket from the chair and putting it on, but saying nothing. It was a lab coat and that had certain implications.

Illya was very familiar with standard interrogations proceedures. First explore the suggestability of the prisoner to find their receptiveness. Offer suggestions though not necessarily verbal, spoken or read. They could be a smile, a glare or in this case a lab coat. Encourage cooperation as the subjects self worth is attacked, then give the subject an opportunity to redeem himself. Manipulate, imply more than conversation was yet to come such as an action against him with more non-verbal suggestions...

So far it was all the classic steps in standard interrogation techniques...the last of which, putting on the lab coat was an attempt to intimidate him and make him afraid. Though in this case none of what had been said or done was successful in shocking the Russian, as he was a master at interrogation himself.

The man walked towards him slowly."Mr. Kuryakin, or should I call you...oh kleinen_little one?"

Illya's eyes betrayed his surprise at hearing those words, but said nothing.

"Yes I think so." he smiled, producing a scalpel from the pocket of his coat. He reached down slicing open Illya's right jacket sleeve and shirt, exposing his forearm, then bent down examining the skin carefully.

He then applied the edge of the sharp scalpel, scraping until the area he concentrated on became pink with irritation as he cleared it, revealing the blue tattooed serial number scratched into Illya's skin so long ago.

"Very clever of you to cover it up with makeup little one?

Illya's face blanched. "Who _are_ you?" he whispered.

He switched back to German. "Ah so dass Sie nicht an mich erinnern mein Kleiner_oh so you don't remember me my little one? I'll give you a reminder. The man reached down touching his hand to Illya's crotch, fondling him ever so softly.

Kuryakin's face went white, his breathing quickened as he remembered that night in the concentration camp in Kyiv...Sryets.* It was his tenth birthday...

"_See," Voelker crooned," that doesn't hurt does it?" he said as he pulled Illya's pants down as he continued to touch him. "Nooooo," Illya begged him to stop._"

"Voelker...Karl Voelker," Illya mumbled, the fear evident in his voice as he identfied the man who had molested him the night that he and thirteen others escaped the death camp.

"So you do remember me little one. Nice to know I made such an impression on you?" Voelker smiled at him pleased that he had possibly found the Russian's Achilles heel.

"Stop calling me that! It was a lifetime ago and means nothing to me." Illya growled at him defensively.

Karl Voelker let out a disturbing laugh, then walked to the door; opening it. He snapped his finger summoning a pair of guards.

"Take him to his cell for now." He said as he walked out of the room, still laughing.

They dragged Kuryakin down several corridors, taking him deeper into the building until they stopped in front of a dark steel door; stepping back aiming their rifles at him as he was ordered to strip.

They threw a set of prison clothes at his feet for him to dress himself in and when they decided he was moving too slow to suit them, one of the guards slammed Illya in the shoulder with the butt of his rifle, knocking him to his knees.

Illya shivered as he slipped into the thin, grey and white vertical striped pants and shirt; realizing they looked the same as uniform that the prisoners had worn in the concentration camp so many years ago.

The door slammed behind him with a loud metallic boom after he was shoved uncermoniously into the cell. It was long and narrow, barely wider than a closet with a wooden bunk, a filthy straw-filled mattress on top of it and a threadbare woolen blanket. There was a small barred window in the wall opposite him and he quickly climbed on top of the bed, pulling himself up as he grabbed the bars to peer outside. There was nothing to see but a darkened courtyard with wall at least fifteen feet high topped by razor sharp concertina wire.

Illya lowered himself down, slipping to the bed and covering himself with the blanket as he continued to shake, but questioned as to whether it was from the chill of air or was it from the fact that his interrogator had been Karl Voelker?

He felt very unsettled and now his prisoner's uniform served to bring back his fearful childhood memories from his time in the camp...as well all the saddness stemming from the death of his family. He thought he had dealt with that and had laid them to rest, but by the way he was feeling right now; it was apparent he had not. He felt another twinge of fear, thinking there was always the possibility that he would never see his wife and son again.

He tried dismissing those thoughts, now concentrating on the fact that he was getting hungry and wondered when and if some food would finally show up?

His thoughts drifted for a moment to his partner, praying that Napoleon would be able to get him out of this one?. He had to believe it...that Solo would indeed do as he always had and arrive in the nick of time to save him.

Illya had nothing more to do now but to wait and hope as his stomach growled in protest.

* reference to "Beginnings"


	3. Chapter 3

There were two buckets in his cell, one for his personal needs at the far end of the room, the other with a tin cup hanging from it for his drinking water beside the bunk.

No food seemed to be forthcoming so the water would have to do to ease Kuryakin's hunger. He checked it at first, wondering if it might have been poisoned and decided it was not. It just looked as if it had been standing for a while and he tried a small sip. It had had an earthy, musty taste to it that was rather unappealing but at least it filled his empty stomach for now. He downed several cups of it then returned to the discomfort of his bunk.

Several days passed without any further contact and then finally a small bowl of weak broth and a chunk of bread were slipped through a slot at the botton of the door. Kuryakin knelt down examining the food, checking for shards of glass, finding none he sniffed it, then made a face.

Though his partner thought otherwise, Illya did not love to eat everything. He had a special aversion to the scent of this particular soup, as it was the same as was served in the the concentration camp. The memory of that still remained with him all these years.

"Ugh...fish," he mumbled, "thinking again for a second there might be poison in it, then he shrugged; drinking it greedily anyway, dipping the bread in it to soften before he ate that too. It was gone quickly as there wasn't much and he was still left feeling hungry.

The dreams began that night. He could hear the whimpers of the men, women and the children, watching as they were herded in lines towards the extermination vans, their moans and cries muffled as the engine started, then the silence as it drove off. He saw the hollow faces, the darkened eyes of starved men staring at him. The look of death shadowing them as they walked toward him, reaching out with their bony hands trying to grab him.

Illya woke with a start, sweating and shivering as he had not had that nightmare in years. Then he heard voices, people wailing in the distance, then whispers and he wondered if he were still dreaming? He cocked his head listening, concentrating on the sounds he swore he could still hear. Then there was nothing, just the silence of his cell and the sounds of roaches as they scuttled across the floor in the darkness.

The next day the door creaked open, and the hulking guards appeared, handcuffing him without a word as they dragged him to off to the interrogation room.

Voelker was seated at the table waiting for him as they cuffed him to the chair again.

"Oh little one...you don't look so well. Not sleeping?"

"I would like to register a complaint with the management," he tried smiling, " my accommodations are substandard and my meals are atrocious. I will not be writing a good review of this place."

"Very funny little one."

"Stop calling me that."

"Why does it bother you? I have such a fond memory of you that night. You were a beautiful child, you really looked almost like a girl you know, you were so small and your long blond hair and those eyes of yours. They haven't changed."

"What do you want from me Voelker?"

"Nothing really, just to talk. I was quite surprised that you survived your escape from the camp. And I was so pleased when I realized it was you sitting here in front of me little one. Let's reminisce a bit perhaps?" Voelker modulated his voice, crooning softly at the Russian.

"About what?"

"Do you remember the camp little one?

Illya snarled at the man, losing his composure."I told you to stop calling me that!" he said, refusing to answer the question. He was tired and irritated and the man's voice was beginning to grate on him, much less the topics being addressed.

"That's alright if you don't answer. I know you do. You were such a good little boy, taking care of those other children. I watched you all the time. Acting the big brother and looking out for them...what was the name of that girl? The pretty one who was your friend... what was her name again?"

Illya stiffened at the mention of that, shifting his weight in the chair, not realizing that he was telegraphing his feelings to Voelker.

"Ah yes, I remember, her name was Irina wasn't it? Yes she was quite a good little fuck as I recall. Did you ever fuck her little one?" he taunted Illya now, " I did, a lot. Yes she was so young and tender, just like you were. It was a shame I never got to explore that with you, the night you left the camp."

Illya was glaring at Voelker now as he remembered what had been done to his friend Irina, he cared for her, she was his first 'crush." They had met in the ruins of Kyiv while trying to stay alive; he eventually helping she and the other besprizornyh detyei_street children to survive the cruelties of the Russian winter. He and Irina had been captured in the spring when the Nazis did their sweeps through the ruins of the city, gathering the orphans and taking them to work in the camp at Babi Yar.

Months later, they were the only ones left from their little orphan group brought into the camp. He remembered the day that Irina told him she had been raped by a German soldier and was pregnant, she never said which one did it to her...the next the day she was taken to her death in the extermination van.

"I was the one who got her pregnant you know," Voelker smiled. " you see I just don't like boys...it's children I like. Boys, girls, it doesn't matter as long as they're young and tender." Voelker smiled at I might make and exception for you. You see I was the one who sent her to the van as it wouldn't do having a useless infant in the camp?"

Illya jerked angrily in the chair as if his struggles would free him of the handcuffs. "I will kill you Voelker I swear it!"

"Poor little one, you are delusional. You see it is I will who kill you." Voelker said this as he pressed a buzzer on the side of the desk. Voelker huffed. "You have ceased to amuse me, so alas, it is time for you to go,"

The door opened and the guards again dragged Kuryakin not to his cell but down the hall to a large room and in the center of it was a guillotine. Illya struggled desperately as they pulled him towards it, with a look of panic in his eyes.

One guard kicked him behind the knees forcing Kuryakin down, then held his head to the block. Illya could see Voelker standing to the side, looking at him and laughing.

They raised the blade to the top of the scafffold.

"Abschied Kleinen_goodbye little one. Tun sie se jetzt_do it now." Voelker dropped his hand as he gave the order to execute Kuryakin.

Illya closed his eyes when he heard the rattle of the chain as it was pulled, releasing the razor sharp steel blade to drop, bringing an end to his life.

Then there was nothing. He was shaking as he opened eyes, seeing the blade in front of his face. They had rigged it to drop, missing him; it was an optical illusion.

The guards pulled Illya to his feet but the shock of the mock exection had momentarily drained the strength from his legs and he was unable to stand. That was when the guards began to beat him, hitting with their rifle butts, kicking him as he lay on the guillotine platform.

When they were finished they carried him back to his cell, dumping Illya on the floor, slamming the door without a word.

No food arrived again that day. Illya lay curled up in his bunk, unable to find a comfortable position because of his sore and bruised muscles. He finally drifted off to sleep, but it was fitful as he dreamt of Irina, their first innocent kiss, her pretty face smiling at him. She appeared in his dreams at first with an innocent face, but then it changed abruptly into the face of bloated, ghostly corpse staring at him with clouded, lifeless eyes. She was calling him to come to her. He was filled with guilt that she and the others had died and he lived.

The nightmares were making it harder and harder for the Russian to sleep. And he woke again hearing the voices, the screams of an infant crying and Illya covered his ears with his hands, thinking that he was beginning to lose his mind. He curled himself up in a ball, rocking himself as he tried to keep in thoughts in the real world, thinking of Elliott and Demya, but then a few tears escaped his eyes, rolling down his cheeks.

"Napoleon where are you?" he called out softly.

Napoleon Solo sat in the commissary eating lunch with his financée Bella Graziani. She worked not far from headquarters and now had been become a regular, joined Napoleon when he was not off on assignment. She had special privileges as a visitor; being the adoptive niece of Alexander Waverly and of course the intended bride of the Chief Enforcement Agent.

He had been quite surprised by her admitting to the fact that she knew Waverly and that resulted in quite a lengthy discussion between the two of them regarding secrets being kept. Napoleon realized that he was not the only one keeping them, but his ommisions were for her protection.

They both agreed to keep as little as possible from each other, and now Napoleon finally understood what Illya meant when he spoke about telling Elliott the truth and keeping honesty in the relationship. But like the Russian had learned; that was not always possible or wise to do so. Idealism and reality made for harsh bedfellows.

Alexander Waverly called Solo to his office but it was not to give the man good news. Illya Kuryakin had been missing for ten days now and was sure that the Russian was in the hands of the STASI, or so the C.I.A. had informned him. Though he was quite annoyed they had taken their time about telling him that bit of news.

"Yes Mr. Solo, apparently Mr. Kuryakin was arrested by the Secret police before he was able to meet with his C.I.A. contact. Unfortuantely they have not been able to discern his location as of yet."

"Sir should we be relying on them at this point, I mean they were the ones that got Mr. Kuryakin into this mess in the first place. They've never been pleased about his presence here, perhaps this was a deliberate ploy on their part to simply get rid of him and let the STASI take the blame?"

"Yes Mr. Solo, the conspiracy theory had crossed my mine. But in the long run it was my decision to give Mr. Kuryakin the assignment. I hold myself soley responsible for this debacle." The man dropped his pipe to the table with disgust. " I suppose we had best inform Mrs. Kuryakin at this juncture."

Waverly flipped the toggle switch on his intercom, speaking into it. "Miss Rogers would you please send Mrs. Kuryakin in?"

The conferece room doors opened a moment later and Elliott Kuryakin walked in, seeing her husbands partner standing beside the conference table. Waverly was seated at his usual place beside this console.

"Yes please Miss McGowan, please be seated."

She thought that odd, as the old mand had not called her that in a long time. She looked at Napoleon as he pulled the chair for her to sit, but remained standing by her side instead of seating himself at the table. That did not bode well with her for some reason, prompting her to speak out, not waiting for Waverly.

"Ye two are looking like the cat that ate the mouse. What's going on?"

Alexander Waverly sighed as he relayed the details as he knew them of her husband's disappearance.

Elliott's face reddened with anger. "And ye sent him in there knowing this could bloody well happen?What the hell were ye thinkin'...bad enough if it was for one of our assignments but for the feckin' C.I.A.? They've never given a rats arse about Illya and I think this stinks to high heaven of a set up. How could ye have done this to him?"

Normally this sort of language would have angered Alexander Waverly but given the circumstances and feeling the guilt of having sent Kuryakin into it; he let her tirade slide.

"So what are we going to do about it?" she demanded.

"At present, nothing."

"Excuse me sir, but the longer they have him, the more damage they could do to him and to U.N.C.L.E.? If he were to break...perhaps we need to be a little more proactive here?" Napoleon said.

"I understand both your concerns. But at this point I think it is best to be patient and let the C.I.A. investigate further. They have agents in place and claim they are pulling out all the stops using their assets to locate him. We would have no clue where to start looking for Mr. Kuryakin, best to let the matter unfold with their help. But I assure you, WE will become involved when there is enough intelligence to launch a mission to extract him."

Elliott stood abruptly, glaring at Waverly then turning her back on both of them as she left, not saying another word.

"That went reasonably well?" Napoleon said, yet in his heart he agreed with Elliott, they shouldn't wait.


	4. Chapter 4

"No!" Voelker was vehement as he spoke. " He belongs to the GDR and is my prisoner. He is guilty of espionage here in East Germany and we will deal with him as we see fit."

"And he was judged a traitor to the Soviet Union long before this most recent infraction. The KGB has prior claims and I will have him." Viktor Karkoff insisted calmly.

"And how is it that he is a traitor? His records indicate that he was sent by the military intelligence willingly to work for U.N.C.L.E.?"

"You are not privilged to the inner workings of the Directorate as I have been Komrade, trust me Kuryakin is a traitor to the people of the Soviet Union and I will see him punished for that."

"But wasn't he your protegée Komrade Karkoff and did he not cause you to lose face after a certain incident early in his career in Paris*...I understand you suffered quite a loss in favor at the Directorate and that is why you made the leap to the KGB?"

Viktor's face turned red.

"You see I was quite thorough in researching his backgound," Voelker smiled as poured a glass of vodka, offering one to Karkoff.

"Let us say that I have a personal interest in him myself...so perhaps in an attempt at mutual cooperation we share in the sucessful conclusions of both our personal agendas?" Voelker raised his glass in a gestured toast to his KGB counterpart.

Karkoff swallowed the burning liquid in a single gulp then crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I am listening Voelker."

"I will soften him up a bit for you, before I release him to you. So give me a little more time with him, will that suit you? After all, he really has no intelligence that I would deem useful to us."

"Only if I have your solemn word that you will not kill him?"

"That will most defintely not happen, although he may eventually wish he were dead? he smiled as he poured another round of drinks.

"And if you do not keep your word to me Komrade Voelker, then perhaps you will take Kuryakin's place in my plans?" he said as he raised the second glass to the German.

Karl Voelker lowered his eyes from the icy stare of Viktor Karkoff.

Illya was feeling dizzy, drained of all his energy and had a never ending headache pounding at the top of his skull.

He struggled to rise from his bunk as his guards arrived again, standing passively as they cuffed his hands behind his back. He tried to prepare himself for the the next onslaught, swearing to himself not to let Voelker get to him with any other comments about his past in Syrets.

He knew now that Voelker was tying to manipulate him for some reason, using the trauma of his childhood in the concentration camp against him, but for what purpose he did not know.

He was hearing voices in the middle of the night and suspected they were piping the sounds into his cell using some sort of speaker, and given the possibility that he was in some sort of drug-induced state from what was in the food...or perhaps even the water to enhance his developing sense of paranoia. He would have to stop eating the food, he could hold out doing that for a while...but not water? That would be a problem.

He decided he would have to bide his time as Voelker's game revealed itself. The man had still not tried to elicit any pertinant information from him, which he found quite had odd as he had ceased line of questioning as to why he was there in East Germany? What was it that Voelker was up to?

Guards bypassed the door to the usual interrogation room, leading him instead to a door at the end of the corridor.

Illya quickly surveyed it, seeing no table and chairs, but the the hooks and the chains that hung from the ceiling and attached to the floor beneath them.

"Ah, here it comes...the torture session." he thought as he steeled himself, getting ready for the pain that would surely come. "now would be a good time for you to show up Napoleon?"

He was made to stand beneath the ceiling hooks as his handcuffs were removed, and at that moment Illya chose to react. He lashed out grabbing one of the guards weapons wrestling him for it; pulling it free, slamming the man in the stomach with it and then with equal speed swung the butt of the rifle up into the chin of the other guard.

Then suddenly a chain was thrown around his throat from behind him as the first guard retaliated; beginning to choke the life out of the Russian. Illya was not able the breath as the chain was pulled tighter around his neck.

"Genug! Er is nicht getötet werden_Enough! He is not to be killed!"Karl Voelker ordered as he stepped into the room."Release him!"

Illya relieved of the pressure against his throat dropped to his knees gasping for air as Voelker snapped his fingers to the guards.

They pulled the Russian to his feet, re-cuffing his hands in front of him, attaching them to the length of chain on the hook in the ceiling. His feet were then shackled to a bolt on the floor, giving him a two to three feet diameter of movement. Illya's hands were then raised above his head. forcing his weight to be born by his legs and feet.

And there he stayed for hours, he could not sleep as he had to keep awake; if he lost his balance from exaustion he would feel the sharp restraining of the shackles.

He was already tired from his sleepless nights because of the dreams that haunted him and now being forced to stay away was making Illya more vulnerable to other stresses, especially as the inherent sleepiness as adverse affects upon the brain...confusing the mind's ability to think rationally.

The situation for the sleep deprived victim becomes deplorable as the mind and brain triggers the bodies defences to create a physiological "alarm reaction" as stress coping hormones are mobilised and prepare the body for possible traumas and even blood loss.

So even though Illya's mind and body were preparing himself for this, the exhaustion wore away at those defenses and he began after the long hours of being sleep deprived, to physically collapse.

By the end of day two he was beginnning to hallucianate. They offered him water, that practically ran out of his mouth instead of swallowing it...all he wanted was to sleep and the shackles did little to startle him to remain away now. So the guards took to beating him with leather straps, not enough to cause damage but enough to galvanize him, gasping awake.

On the third day he began to have waking dreams about Sryets and the terrors he witnessed there. He was outwardly weeping, begging for the corpses from his past nightmares to leave him alone.

Ne trogaiy te menya! Uhduite! Vy mertvy _do not touch me! Go away! You are dead all dead!" he cried out in Russian.

Then by the weeks end he had lost all sense of orientatation, place and time. He had begun to have conversations with people who weren't there. He spoke to babushka, his grandmother and other members of his family long since dead. Calling to his mother begging her not to leave him, then crying out that he was sorry to his baby sister Katiya."**

All the while, not one question was put to him, until Voelker finally appeared appeared asking him why he was here?

Illya spoke in a very small, almost child-like voice, calling him Uncle Vanya. "I am here to be a partisan, I am going to fight with you, papa and Dimitry."

"That's right Illya you are a good little partisan and what is your mission here?"

The Russian refused to answer as he could barely hold up his head.

"If you tell me Illuyshenka...then you can sleep, and you would like so very much to sleep wouldn't you?" he crooned softly.

That promise called out to Illya like a beacon; wanting it more than anything, more than food more than water and for a brief moment he returned to reality.

"To rescue the man." he mumbled.

"Which man is that little partisan?" Voelker spoke very gently to him.

"The American"

"An American?" Voelker hesitated, " Which American is that?"

"James Crowleeeey with the C.I.A." Illya's voice began to trail off.

Karl Voelker cursed, wondering how the Russian had been able to resist. There was no American in their custody, much less an agent from the Central Intelligence Agency.

He signalled for the guards to lower the Russian down, cuffing his hands behind the man's back again, but leaving his feet shackled.

Illya was asleep as soon as he was laid on the cold floor.

Voelker left him there for an hour then returned waking the groggy Russian.

He grabbed Illya by the chin forcing him awake and to look him directly in the eyes. "Tell me Kuryakin who are you here for! NO lying this time! What is your mission? You tell me and I promise you can have a nice long interrupted sleep."

Illya was barely able to open his yet he repeated the name Crowley and C.I.A.

"Kleinen bastard_little bastard!" he hissed at the Russian.

He knew his time with Kuryakin was at an end and now had to turn him over to Viktor Karkoff as promised, but not before Karl Voelker had his fun. No he promised himself that little victory over the little one.

He took the scalpel from his coat pocket again, cutting away the flimsy pants that Illya wore.

Illya's eye went wide in horror as he realized what was coming next. All his life he had fought against being raped and succeeded in preventing it but the almost phobic fear of it overwhelmed him now. " No Voelker...please no, please?" he begged.

"No little one, I plan to finish what I was deprived of doing to you so long...the irony of this is so sweet, though it's a shame you aren't still young, that would make this all the more sweeter." he smiled as he undid his belt, unzipping his trousers...

Illya Kuryakin trembled as he lay in his bunk, dazed and in pain from the attack by Voelker. He was so exhausted that he simply fell into a dreamless asleep, a blessing in itself as it allowed him not to think about the degradation of being raped.

He woke up two days later, thirsty hungry and his entire body cried out to him in pain. He felt disheartened and the humiliation of being violated was nearly overwhelming to him; his will to survive was slowly draining from him. Illya had lost track of all time and was convinced now there would be no rescue this time by his partner. UNCLE probably had no clue where he was or who had taken him...

The guards arrived, throwing a new pair of pants at him, He barely had the strength to put them on and once he was dressed; they handcuffed him. Then practically carrying their weakened prisoner down to interrogation.

This time seated in the chair was not Karl Voelker but another man, one Illya knew all too well.

"Viktor Sergeivich." he mumbled.

"Illya skaazal vam, kogda my vstrechalis' posledniy raz. chto ya hochu, chtoby vy snova kogda-nibud'_ I told you when we last met that I would have you again someday. And now that day has finally arrived." Viktor leaned back in his chair, smiling in satisfaction.

Illya's head sagged forward a little, still tired and in pain, he said nothing.

"No witty comeback? How unlike you Illuyshenka. Then again perhaps you finally learned that smart mouth of yours always got you in trouble."

"Whatever." Illya spoke as if he were disinterested in what his former mentor had to say.

"I had such high hopes for you Illya Nickovich but you were such a disappointment to me and caused me as your sponsor to the GRU great humiliation because of your stupidity."

"Get over it Viktor...I know I did. I was but a means to an end for you, just another stepping stone for you to use on your way up the ladder of promotions at the Directorate."

"There you are wrong Illya Nickovich. I cared for you like a father."

"YOU were never a father to me Viktor!" Illya growled.

The KGB agent leaned across the table, backhanding Illya across the face. "YOU will not raise your voice to me." he snarled.

He leaned back in his chair, calming his momentary outburst of anger.

"I have plans for you Kuryakin. You will pay for what you did to me, that I promise you."

Karkoff snapped his fingers to the guard that stood nearby. A black hood was place over Illya Kuryakin's head and he was lead out the door. Where Vikor was taking him, he had no idea...

* reference to "First Kill" ** reference to "Beginnings"


	5. Chapter 5

Illya Kuryakin was neither fed or given water before he was loaded into a vehicle for his journey. He tried listening carefully for identifying sounds along the way, but the steady firing of the engine and the rocking as they moved along the road finally lulled him to a much needed sleep.

He awoke abruptly, feeling as though he had just dozed off when hands grabbed him, pulling him roughly out of what he guessed was some sort of lorry. He still had the bag over his head but he could hear the sound of airplane propellors and assumed he was at an air strip.

"Davay ty kusok der'ma! Peremesit' sebya_come on you piece of shit! Move it!" someone yelled as they pushed him.

He was shoved forward, losing his balance and falling on the steps that lead up to the plane. Hands grabbed him again by the back of his shirt, pulling him up the short flight of stairs; Illya barely able to keep to his feet as they did so.

Illya was shoved to the floor, presuming the way the it felt and the sounds inside that he it was a cargo plane. Minutes later he could feel it move as it taxied and then picked up speed until it took off and slowly the pressure in his ears began to pop as he swallowed.

He heard whispers and murmers around him as he knelt, cuffed and blindfolded...it was nothing distinct that her heard, except for one word whispered in Russian...and that was "gualg." He was not surprised by it and had half expected it. Now it was the question as to which one?

There was nothing to do but go back to sleep until he arrived where ever it was they were taking him. And so Illya Kuryakin allowed himself to simply fall back sleep, seemingly unconcerned to what was going on about him.

It was some time into the flight that he was woken up as the black bag over his head was finally lifted. Once his eyes focused he could see that he was indeed on a cargo plane and there were three other men with their heads still covered, bound as he and all presumably headed to the gulag as well. There were four guards at least.

One of them approached him with a canteen, putting the spout to his mouth, letting him take a long drink of water, then the hood was pulled back down.

He heard the man mumble "bednayaga_poor bastard," as he walked away from him. Illya closed his eyes again, allowing his thoughts to go his wife and son. No one could see him bite his lip as he fought back his emotions, afraid that he might never see them again. Escape from a gulag was nearly impossible...but then he realized what he had just thought to himself. The word 'nearly' offerered him a glimmer of hope. He would figure out a way to escape; he had to give himself at least that just a little, something to hold on to.

He slept fitfully, dreaming of the degrading attack by Karl Voelker. There was nothing he could do defend himself as the man brutalized him, but the feeling of helplessness was affecting him. He had failed at defending himself against the one thing he had secretly feared all his life. He had defended himself as a child, then in the state schools, then when serving in the navy, and during his intelligence training' it had become a source of pride to him that he had done it...but now he had failed.

Then his dreaming changed as he began to see the faces again, they appeared, corpse-like, staring at him; mama, papa, his brothers and baby sister, Uncle Vanya, his cousin Anastasiya, then Irina and all the faces of the children at the concentration camp. The were all reaching, grabbing for him. Just then he was jarred awake as the plane made a hard landing, throwing Illya to his side.

He was shaking as he tried to shake off the unsettling visions, but Karl Voelker had robbed him of his masculinity and his meer presence and words had awoken the memories that he had surpressed for so long. And now as despondency slowly crept into his psyche, they returned to haunt him, even though he knew rationally that it had all been part of the psychological game the man had been playing with him, yet he could still not get them to go away.

When the plane came to a stop, he was pulled up from the floor and lead down the stairs to the ground, though feeling an immediate temperature change as the frigid winds cut into him; he was given another shock as his bare feet stepped into snow. Being dressed in the thin prisoners uniform; Illya began to shiver violently as he was lead through it. By the time he was brought indoors, his feet were completely numb and began to burn painfully as the numbness began to dissipate.

His hands were freed and his body shivered as it tried to warm itself, but he had been ordered not to move, so he couldn't even rub his arms to create a little friction. He cocked his head, listening from beneath his hood as he heard footsteps coming closer.

Finally the hoods were pulled away from Illya and his fellow prisoners and they shielded their eyes from the light at first with their hands, then blinked repeatedly, trying to refocus as they saw the commanding figure standing in front of them.

Kuryakin was not surprised that it was Viktor Karkoff, this time dressed in full military uniform, with the rank of Colonel. Illya quickly glanced down the line of his fellow prisoners, seeing their faces filled with terror.

"Dobro pozhaoovat' gulag. Vy zdes',potomu chto vy byli piznany pfedatelyami v Sovet-skiii Soyouz_welcome to the gulag. You are here because you have been judged to be traitors to the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, but you are the kind of traitors who deserve a slow death here rather than the quick mercy of the firing squad."

"My only words of advice to you all is to perform your assigned work to its completion. Do that and you will recieve your full rations of food, fail to do as you are told and you will not receive your rations. Those who do not get the food they need to survive will die of starvation. It is as simple as that... work to live."

"There is no means of escape, surrounding outside the great walls to this camp are high barbed-wire fences and we have ample guard towers. There are no blind spots so do not bother to look for them. We are on an island that is part of the Solovetsky Archipelego and there is no way off...if you were to even possibly get out of the compound; you would freeze to death in the treacherous waters of the Blagopoluch'ya Bay."

"There is no one here to help you. No one knows you are here, as you no longer exist. You are no longer of any value to the people of the Soviet Union, if you die; you will simply be replaced by new prisoners. It is no matter to us; only _you_ need to decide how much you want to live, or die. Your survival or death is in your own hands."

Karkoff snapped his fingers and a guard dropped piles of clothing in front of the prisoners, outerwear for the cold weather.

They were each issued thick woolen socks, wool trousers, a shirt, wool sweater, mittens, scarf, a thickly padded coat and a hat. Karkoff pointed to Kuryakin, "this one in my office now."

Illya was grabbed by the arm, being pulled along down a corridor before he could gather his clothing.

Once in the office, he was shoved down into a chair in front of Viktor's desk.

"So Illuyshenka, you do recognize where you are do you not?"

"Yes," Illya huffed, " I know it is Solovki...I thought it had been shut down, but apparently not."

"You are actually correct but only in part. To the world it has been shut down...there is but a handful of people who know that we now use it for only a very few special prisoners."

"How fortunate for me, it is so nice to be made to feel special" Kuryakin quipped, "and what is the so-called work that you have for the inmates to do. As I recall when we trained here there was virtually nothing to do here except to make salt, nothing as productive as in the other gulags, such as lumber work or gold mining?

"You will find out soon enough what will be required of you. Right now the world thinks the Monastery is being converted to a museum of sorts, so no visitors for now Illuyshenka or should I address you as Count Kuryakin?"

Illya seemed somewhat surprised at that question, denying it with a firm answer." I am not a Count?"

"Oh by rights of succession, you are are the only surviving son of Count Nicholaí Kuryakin and according to my records your grandfather Count Alexander Kuryakin died in this very camp...but then I think you already knew that?"

Illya said nothing in response to Viktor's question. His noble background was something that had never been discussed with anyone. His family had warned him against that as a child. But now Karkoff had apparently dug into his background and made this discovery.

"You see, once the inmates hear that you are a member of the bourgeois aristocracy, they will not take kindly to your presence and who knows what they would do to you? But then perhaps I will withhold that information for now...let us say as a little insurance?"

"Insurance for what? So I will not die too soon? What is the point to all this Viktor, why do you not just pull your pistol now, shoot me and get it over with? You will have the satisfaction of having killed me and it will then be over for the both of us. You will at least live to move on, that is until my partner Mr. Solo catches up with you...and he will catch up with you eventually. I promise you that. Your days will be numbered."

"You are in no position to make threats, I assure you Kuryakin, you are going to die here, and it will be a slow and painful death, that you can be sure of. You made me a laughing stock at the directorate, but that not withstanding, your continued work for U.N.C.L.E. showing no support to your own government is more than sufficient reason for you to be here."

"Viktor I obeyed the orders of _my_ government when I took the assignment with U.N.C.L.E. and supplying intelligence and spying for the Directorate were never part of the agreement. I have never given up my allegiance to the Soviet government...nor disobeyed my orders from it."

"That is until you declared your intentions to defect?"Viktor looked at him with an icy stare.

"That is because KGB refused to accept that I was following my assignment from the Directorate to the letter...I tired of the endless torment from you and your people. It may make you feel better that the American C.I.A. hounds me with equal enthusiasm. So there are idiots on both sides you see," he smiled" and defecting will rid my life of interference from idiots such a yourself."

Karkoff stepped over to Illya, slamming him in the face with his hand, sending Kuryakin's head reeling back. He then raised his arm to deliver a blow, but Illya blocked it, hitting Karkoff in the chin with his clenched fist.

The guard slammed Illya in the back with his rifle butt, sending him down to his knees and then Vicktor Karkoff proceeded to kick him in the stomach and sides until he moaned in pain.

"Take him to his cottage," Viktor ordered the guard.

Illya spat blood as he was pulled up to his feet, outside his clothing was shoved into his arms, not being permitted to dress. Instead he was dragged out still in his thin uniform and barefoot through snow, walking across the open plaza to one of the half dozen wooden cottages; the inmate quarters, that stood in the center of the compound.

He remembered the layout well as he glanced about, seeing nothing seemed to have changed. The camp was in the center of the Solovetsky Monestary, surrounded by massive stone walls up to 11 metres high and 6 metres thick. There were eight towers made up of mainly huge boulders. Former religious buildings, principally interconnected with roofs and arched passages surrounded by multiple household buildings and living quarters. These had been used to house the officers and guards, no doubt Karkoff's quarters were there.

There were also rooms within the main Monastery itself that were used for torture and solitary confinement.

They shoved Illya to move along through the nearly knee-deep snow as prisoners in the yard looked up from their shoveling, clearing pathways that would soon be filled in by the heavy snowfall, truly a Sisyphean task, serving nothing but to give the prisioners mindless work in the frigid temperatures.

They lead him to building number two, shoving him inside, ordering him to get dressed and then come back out to begin shoveling along with the others.

There were a dozen or so bunk beds with a cast-iron stove in the center of the room, of a size that would do little good to warm the place. The place reeked of urine, dirt and human filth.

Illya sat on a bunk in the back corner, looking like it was one that was not already occupied, dressing himself slowly as his feet were still numb while he pulled on the wool socks. The lace up boots were obviously worn and a little big, but with the socks, they fit a little better.

Time had become all but meaningless to the agent as he had no idea how many days or even weeks had truly passed. He reached up, rubbing his face with his hand; he had a fairly good growth of beard now, so he guessed he had been held for at least two weeks.

The door to the cabin opened and a guard stepped in, walking back to him and smashing his rifle into Illya's shoulder. "Too slow...now you get half ration! Now move your ass outside!"

Illya grabbed his jacket, quickly wrapping the scarf around his neck and shoving the knit hat onto his head. He buttoned the coat as he made it out the door, then shoved the mittens onto his hands as the guard handed a rusted shovel to him.

"Pristupit' k rabote vy bespolezny sobak_get to work you worthless dog!"

Illya Kuryakin joined the line of his fellow prisoner digging into the snow, forming a long line as the dug across the plaza, the excess snow being loaded to sleds, drawn to the gate and dumped outside the complex.

The Monastery was situated directly along he shore, the island very indented, formed of granite and gneiss and Kuryakin was familiar with the layout both inside and outside, and now that he understood where he was; he resigned himself to the fact that there was no apparent escape from this place, as least on he hadn't discovered yet.

He continued working with the other men, toiling at the endless task of shovelling the snow until darkness fell; then they were lead to a building to be fed. The men lined up one by one, with assortments of dented metal bowls and cups in their hands, each stepping up to a pass through window, where a cook ladled soup out to them, giving them each a small loaf of black bread.

Their eyes were all vacant as they stared at the food being doled out; hope in their eyes that it would be a thick soup instead of a watery one. And as if a miracle had occurred, the soup was thick with plenty of turnips and they ate it slowly, savoring every mouthful. There were no utensils and what was left in the bowls was scooped out with the fingers.

When it came Illya's turn the guard stopped him, holding a club in front of his chest, preventing him from stepping up to the window.

"No soup for this one, and half ration of bread only."

The cook, who was an inmate himself looked sadly at the young newcomer, as he handed Illya a small piece of bread, filling his bowl with only a bit of water.

Illya found himself a bench, sitting down alone, then watched his fellow inmates as they ate in silence.

Then one man, looking deathly thin, shuffled past as he struggled to sit at a nearby table with his meager ration. Another man sitting next to Kuryakin watched, seeing him eyeing the poor soul, leaned over whispering to him.

"He is dokhodiaga_a goner. He will be done in soon, he is so far gone that he cannot work and if you don't work, you don't get fed enough."

The goners were prisoners who had become extremely emaciated and were literally on the verge of death by starvation. Their presence were a reminder to the other prisoners of their potential fate if they failed to fulfill their daily work quotas and thus deprived of their men there showed no compassion, and Illya could hear them whispering about who would take the man's clothes when he died, another hoped it would happen during a meal, so they could take his ration of food.

These men had been reduced to thoughtless animals, suffering from more than a hunger in their bellies; they had lost all human emotion. There was no place for love, friendship, or concern for one's fellow man in their lives. There was just the hopeless emptiness that remained as the flesh disappeared from their bodies as each day passed, not caring what they did to each other in order to survive.

And now Illya Kuryakin was among them...would he become dokhodiaga as well?


	6. Chapter 6

The days passed, each running one into the other as Illya rose from his cold bunk, the stove did little to warm the room and those lucky enough to have their beds surrounding it felt some of it's meager heat.

Illya's bed was the farthest distance from it; he being a latecomer to the barrack, so he felt none of his warmth. The inside walls were covered with a coating of frost, condenstation from their breath crystalized and permanently clinging to the wood. The buckets of drinking water always had a thin layer of ice on top that needed to be cracked each morning.

Some of the men who had traded favors with guards or prisoners in the other cabins heated water for tea, which they guarded greedily. Those like Illya had to make due with filling their bellies with hot water.

And as he drank it from a nearly crushed tin mug; he imagined the taste of tea and a bit of rasberry jam sweetening it. Elliott had always insisted he had an imagination lurking in his educated skull and now he finally found a way to let it free, if just to save his sanity.

There was no bathing or washing up, and soon Kuryakin smelled as bad as his cabin-mates, but having become so accustomed to the stench; he was no longer even aware of it. Everyone slept in their clothing to help keep warm, as well as out of fear that what ever they removed would be stolen during the night.

There was constant bickering and fistfights as one man accused another of taking something or food that had been hidden away. Kuryakin stayed away from them all, keeping to himself; minding his own business to a point. He had not spoken to any of them and simply sat back watching them, listening to the rumors and watching the comings and goings of everyone. The prisoners, the guards.

Soon he knew who the snitches were and learned to avoid them at all costs. He kept to himself and out of trouble.

There was little to no conversation among his cabin-mates; and Illya was only looked upon with suspicion and his newer clothing eyed with envy. But there were others who looked upon him in other ways and that made him nervous. There were constant acts of violence and rape in the camp and Illya knew it was just a matter of time before someone would make a move on him.

The guards did little to stop it all; as Karkoff had said, the prisoners meant nothing. If they died due to starvation or violence; they would simply be replaced. The darkened faces of the men that surrounded him all reminded Illya of the concentration camp, the hollow sunken eyes now surrounded him during the day, joined the ones that clawed at him in his nightly dreams. Though he was exhausted, sleeping was a problem. He forced himself to sleep only through cat naps and those were fill with his nightmares. Sometimes it felt as though it was all a waking dream and it was hard becoming harder to distinguish what was reality from what was not.

He caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the water bucket as he broke the ice in it and saw that same look in his own face; and was shocked as his gauntness was evident beneath the growth of his beard.

In spite of is concern at his physical condition, he at least was injury free. He still watched and listened, looking at the guards and making note of the shift changes, any patterns of behaviour that seemed predictable. He still allowed himself the hope that he could escape, but unlike his fellow prisoners he knew where there were boats kept outside the compound. If he could just some how get past the walls and fences, he could take one of them and row across the bay to escape into the countryside; disappearing into the huge forests of Norway Spruce and Scots Pines.

Or he could take a boat that would be one of many found along the numerous canals that joined the hundreds of lakes on the island, created a century ago by the the former monks that lived in the Monastery. He could make his way to the northwest to Sekimay Hill, where the Church of the Ascension was situated, used as a lighthouse with a beacon in it's spire. It was also the site of one of the cruelest punishment cells on the island and the place where Illya was sure his grandfather had died. There had been no burial for him in one of the mass graves near the prison; he knew the body of Alexander Kuryakin would have been tossed into the bay.

Karkoff was aware that he knew the island well but still, even Viktor might not expect him to go near that place. There he could steal one of the many skiffs he knew were anchored at the shore and make it to the mainland from there as well.

He did not know if he could survive out there, but at least it would be better to die trying than to stay in Solovki and waste away. But with luck he could make it across the bay and through the forests to the Finnish border; there he could contact U.N.C.L.E. and let them know his where abouts.

It was snowing heavily as he and the other prisoners were hearded out to their morning meal of watery gruel and surpisingly enough, weak tea. A man sitting next to him was smoking a hand-rolled cigarette and Illya wondered what he could have done to get it.

He saw Kuryakin watching him and for some reason he laid the half smoked cigarette on the edge of the table towards Illya.

"Idi vepered tovarishch,voz'mite yego. Vy posmotirite, kak y mozhete ispol'zovat' yego_go ahead komrade, take it. You look like you could use it."

"Spacibo." Illya whispered as he picked it up, taking a long drag from it, then coughed. "what the hell is in this?"

"Trust me you do not what to know."

Illya smiled; it had been a very long while since that had happened, then intoduced himself to the first person who had actually spoken to him without it being an order.

"Menya zavut' Il'ya Kuryakin."

The man smiled at him," Menya zavut' Yakov Reznik...Illya that is a Jewish name? You are a Jew?" Yakov whispered.

"No I am not, I am Christian, my name Elijah was given to me by my father, I was so named after a friend who was Jewish."*

"Kuryakin...that was a Kyiv name. I was born there but I escaped the death squads as a child. I lived on the streets until the Russian army liberated the city. If it had not been for a boy...very blond like you and the same sort of eyes, I probably would have perished. But perhaps it would have been better I had died than to end up in this place. I am a political dissident you see and because I am Jewish that made me all the more intolerable to the government. It is so sad, there were so few of my people left, when I heard your name I had hoped..."

"Thank you again for the cigarette and the conversation Yakov." Illya wondered if Yakov was one of the orphans he had helped that winter, but decided it was better not to talk further with him about it, at least not for now.

At that moment the guards rousted them to get outside to work and handed over their shovels as they headed out into the gusting wind blown snow. It was always windy at Solovki, but today it was near blizzard conditions and still they forced the men out into it. Illya rememering if they did not work, then they would not eat.

At one point during the morning a fight erupted as one of the men collapsed, the others were on top of him, trying to steal his clothing... even though the man was not even dead yet.

Illya moved to help the fallen man, realizing that it was Yakov and there was a struggle as he jumped into the fray to defend him. But his good deed did not go unpunished as he was slammed in the head with a shovel.

He probably would have been beaten to death had it not been for the intervention of one of the guards. Apparetly Viktor had issued an order of 'protection' over him. No, there would be no merciful death at the hands of the other prisoners; Viktor wanted Kuryakin's suffering prolonged.

He woke up in the infirmary in the main building of the monastery. His head had been partially shaved and crudely stitched up by a drunken medic who was sitting in a chair half conscious in his stupor. Illya's right wrist was chained to the bed frame, so there was no chance for him to get away.

All of his clothes had been removed and he worried that they were gone, but suddenly realized this was the first time he had seen his own body since he had first come to Solovki and was shocked at his physical condition.

His stomach was sunken in, his ribs protruding and his skin hung loosely on his frame. His body was emaciated, and swallowed back his tears knowing that his plans of escape would be futile. He would not have the strenth to scale one of the walls as he had planned and it was then Illya Kuryakin began to give up...believeing now that he had become one of the 'goners.'

A guard came into the infirmary eyeing him as he lay helpless in the hospital bed. He recognized Lazar' Morozov; one of the crueler guards who terrifed and tormented the camp population. He was notorious for using and abusing the inmates for his own enjoyment, and was the one that the snitches groveled to with their bits of information.

"So I finally get you alone your royalness...or lordship. I do not know what you would be called...Count? Oh yes, I know who you are, I overheard what Karkoff called you. He wants you looked after. Nothing quick for you, he wants you to die slowly but he never said I couldn't have any fun with you." Morozov spoke slowly as he undid his trousers.

Illya was weak and struggled in vane as Lazar' climbed on top of him; crying out in pain as the man forced himself upon him. When he was finished, Lazar' left Illya curled up in a ball on the hospital bed fighting back the pain and the tears until the man left him alone and then he let his emotions go, sobbing as he rocked himself.

He was taken out naked, limping and barely able to walk as another guard lead him across the plaza to the other side of the Monastery, where he was dumped into a small cell, barely the size of a closet; the only things in there to lay on were a few boards on the ice cold floor. He was to be odinochka_ a loner, and kept in solitary confinement for fighting.

The guard threw his clothes in after him and a flimsy blanket. "Enjoy your stay your lordship," the guard laughed as he slammed the door behind him.

Illya lowered himself slowly, using the wall for support as he climbed onto the boards dressing himself carefully.

Then he tried to lay down. Lying on his back meant pain as his bones were in contact with the wood. If he rolled to his stomach, it was equally as painful. Finally he laid on his left side, with his right knee pushing up against his chest, balancing the weight on his hip. He left his right arm along his body as he put his cheekbone against the back of his left hand. And so he at last fell asleep as he fought off his pain.

Illya remained an odinochka for a very long time, and could feel himself becoming ill. He knew he was running a fever now and had developed a deep cough that was painful. Lazar' continued to molest him over and over and Illya had no strength to resist him any longer.

Lazar' would bring him extra rations, telling Illya it was his pay for a good fuck. He was void of all emotions now and stopped caring about the man's molestations. The food was barely enough to sustain him and he felt his life and his will to live slipping away little by little. This was probably the end and he finally accepted it.

Alexander Waverly was livid. He knew the C.I.A. was lying to him about the assignment on which they had sent his agent traipsing to East Berlin. And now the most powerful man in U.N.C.L.E. was pulling out all the stops to find out what game they were playing with him. They finally admitted they knew where Kuryakin was but refused to tell, as revealing that could compromise one of their operations.

"To the devil with your operation. You know where _my_ agent is and I want him back. Or do I have to take this to the White House?" Waverly barked at them.

There was a moment of silence on the speaker phone, then Bill Klein finally back pedaled. "Now there's no reason to get your britches in a bunch. Let me look into it and I'll get this thing set to rights, you have my word."

"I am holding you to that Mr. Klein, should you reneg on your promise; you will live to regret it as I will unleash the fury of my organization against you. Would you like to be held responsible for the loss of all U.N.C.L.E. intelligence that is supplied to the United States Government?"

"Ugh...yes sir, I mean no sir. I read you loud and clear."

Napoleon Solo had called in every favor and pulled every string possible for weeks now, trying to find his partner; discovering that all his East German contacts were closing up tighter than a clam. The C.I.A. had gotten to them first and finally out of frustration he turned to Alexander Waverly with the results of his search.

He was sitting at the conference table listening in on the call with Bill Klein and finally spoke up when it was finished.

"Do you think we can really trust them sir? We know they've obviously been up to something but where Mr. Kuryakin figured into this I have no idea?"

"That is the question Mr. Solo. It was typical C.I.A. modus operandi to use another agency to shift the blame from themselves, but now after investigating this so-called Ameican that was being held, I am at a loss to discover who he is or why he was being held. It's almost as if the man doesn't exist at all?"

That bit of news did not make Napoleon Solo happy at all and convinced him all the more that his partner had been set up.

Twenty four hours later Alexander Waverly received a telephone call from Langley. Bill Klein was about to keep his word. The C.I.A. had brokered a deal with the East German government and the KGB for a prisoner exchange. Two East German agents and one KGB agent for the safe return of Illya Kuryakin.

Napoleon shook his head wondering why the C.I.A. was so willing to part with enemy agents for the Illya's release? What were they up to? But at the moment, he really didn't give a tinker's damn about the their motives; he was just glad that Illya was alive and would be coming home.

He left headquarters heading straight to the Kuryakin house in Washington Square. His financée, Bella had been staying with Elliott as Illya's wife had finally, at the insistance of Dr. Schneider and Dr. Dennison, the head of the psyche department, gone on mandatory medical leave.

It was all Bella could do to get Elliott out of bed in the morning. Once she was up and about; she would simply sit, staring of the photograph of Illya holding his newborn son that sat on a corner table in the living room. Demya could not understand his mother's depression and kept asking for his papa, making Elliott all the more upset. She could only tell her son that his father was working and nothing more. Demya tried to comfort his mother, as he sensed her sadness, but his clinging to her did little to raise her spirits. Bella began bringing some of her nieces and nephews over to play with the poor child and he was beginning to feel lonely, missing his father and his mother's attentions.

Bella had just lit the fireplace to warm the room and placed a cup of tea in front of Elliott, trying to tempt her with few scones. Elliott had all but lost her appetite and had lost weight worrying about her husband and what had become of him. She was furious with Waverly for sending Illya on the mission and angry at Illya for having accepted it.

The doorbell rang and Bella checked the security camera, seeing it was Napoleon standing in the vestibule; she let him in instantly.

"Hey mia Bella," he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly for a moment." you alright?"

"I'm trying not to think about how I'd feel if it were you missing."

"No don't think about that please? It's bad enough we have Elliott's depression to deal with?"

"Hey I'm a tough cookie, remember that?"

"That's why I love you," he said as he gave her a kiss, "where is she?"

"In the living room as usual...and the same."

"Well I have some news that's going to make her a happy woman" he smiled.

"You've found him!"

"In a manner of speaking. He should be back safe and sound within the next five days or so I've been told."

"Oh thank God Napoleon...how did," Bella stopped herself. "I know, don't ask."

"Well this I can tell you, your Uncle Alex was the one who did it, not me. Now come on let's give her the good news?"

Napoleon walked down the hallway, making a right turn into the simply furnished living room. Elliott was sitting in a chair by the window, holding the photgraph of her husband and son in her hands, staring at it as she had been doing for weeks.

"Hi Ellie," he called softly to her.

She didn't answer, or even look up to acknowledge that he was even there. Napoleon knelt beside her, gently touching her on the arm.

"Ellie honey, I have some good news for you."

That got her attention as she turned to face him.

"He's coming home." he smiled at her.

Elliott's saddened face changed instantly as she reached out wrapping her arms around Napoleon's neck as she began to sob. " thank you." she whispered to him.

reference to * "Beginnings"


	7. Chapter 7

The negotiations took several more days to finalize, and in spite of Viktor Karkoff's protestations, he was ordered to surrender Kuryakin. General Niko Vladimirovich, still the Chief of the Directorate in Moskva contacted him personally, ordering him to relenquish Illya Kuryakin and to do it immediately. The General was not pleased with Karkoff's interference in GRU business.

Vladimirovich was the man who had offered Kuryakin up to U.N.C.L.E. so many years ago and though the Directorate had no interest in Kuryakin per se, Vladimirovich carried a personal feeling of pride for the young man's success with U.N.C.L.E. and was after the fact, sorry that he had given him up so easily to Alexander Waverly.

Karkoff was livid at being robbed of his revenge against Illya Kuryakin; letting a few words slip that he should not have uttered to his former Komrade at the Directorate.

But Vladimirovich knew one learned by one's mistakes; Kuryakin though no longer his agent, still served a purpose, though there were those who, like Karkoff thought otherwise. Karkoff was another of his mistakes; he should have had him sent to the furnaces at Serpkov years ago, but instead he gave him leave and let him join the KGB. But now he would rectify that moment of leniency that he had shown Karkoff.

No sooner had Illya Kuryakin been placed on a flight to Arkangelsk; Viktor Karkoff was arrested and became a prisoner of his own making in Solovki. He was made odinochka_a solitary one in confinement for his own protection and Vladimirovich would see to it that was there he would end his days.

The C.I.A would handle the exchange as the presence of U.N.C.L.E. was initially banned upon request of the East German government, due in part to Karl Voelker's accusations against U.N.C.L.E.'s complicity and citing their agent was guilty of committing espionage by entering the country using false documentation. But Alexander Waverly insisted one of his agents be present on the bridge and that agent was to be Napoleon Solo.

The prisoner exchange was scheduled to take place at the northernmost border crossing in East Berlin, the Bornholmer Strasse Bridge that spanned the railroad between East to West Berlin and was near one of the many 'ghost stations' along the railway, where trains were no longer permitted to stop thereby denying East Berliners access and freedom to travel.

Though U.N.C.L.E. was supposed to have but one agent on the bridge; Alexander Waverly ignored those conditons and planned a little surprise for the East Germans; a contrivance that would more than likely upset the C.I.A. Waverly was not above a little payback once in a rare while and his plan would send a clear message to Langley as well as the STASI.

Elliott Kuryakin was positoned with a sniper rifle on a small tree covered hill top on the western side overlooking the bridge, giving her a clear view for when she was ready to take her shot. The plan called called for assassination; one of her specialties and this would be particularly sweet for her...a little _payback_ of her own for what had been done to her husband.

At first Waverly had been hesitant to assign her to the task; given the depression she had been in over her husband's capture. But she was the best agent they had with a sniper rifle and she was adamant about being involved in the operation.

Elliott steeled herself as she waited on the hill; putting aside the sadness, fear and hatred she felt. Revenge was best dealt with a cold heart and a steady hand, and right now she was the Ice Princess for her Ice Prince; frozen in place and waiting to act. Her finger resting patiently against the the trigger, watching the bridge carefully for the right moment, as her shots had to be timed just right.

This was not to be a standard shooting for Elliott, no... research and development had come up with something special, a compound loaded into a projectile fired from her riflle that would shatter upon impact, leaving the liquid substance to become quite viscus, sticking to the surface upon impact. Ten minutes later that substance would destabilize and explode. It would be quite spectacular, and give that very clear message that Alexander Waverly wanted to send.

They anticipated the STASI agents would be taken away in a separate car from the KGB operative. Her strict instructions were to taget the East German vehicle only and under no circumstances was she to fire on the one transporting the KGB agent. Right now their quarrel was with the East Gemans. Russia was a member nation to U.N.C.L.E. and best to keep things on the status quo with them. But as to the C.I.A. that remained to be seen...

The time of the prisoner exchange was to take place just before a scheduled train was due to pass the Bornholmer ghost station; as it traveled directly beneath the bridge the noise from the locomotive would cover the repeat from Elliott's rifle.

Illya would cross the bridge simutaneously with the three enemy agents and would be wisked away by the C.I.A. in a vehicle waiting on the western side then brought to the Berlin office of U.N.C.L.E. once they left the scene.

If all went according to plan, the German vehicle would blow once they were all well away from the bridge; shifting the finger of blame to the KGB, or so they hoped. But it might shift to the C.I.A. as well, but all Elliott cared about was getting her Illuysha back home safe and sound and didn't give a 'rat's arse' as she put it about who would be at whom's throat after the fact.

"The feckers can all kill each other for all I care." was the last comment she made on the plan.

Illya Kuryakin had been missing for six weeks they had no idea idea what conditon he was in. Whether the C.I.A. had been provided with that information or not; no one knew. Elliott prayed that he had not been severly injured as she watched the black sedans slowly pull up on either side of the bridge.

Napoleon lifted a small pair of binoculars to view the figures as they exited the vehicles on the far side of the bridge, as he was joined by several C.I.A. agents. Together they watched things unfold on the East Berlin side of the span.

Three men with crewcuts, clearly STASI agents emerged from one of the cars, pulling a blond man from the second of the three vehicles parked there now.

"Yes!" Napoleon let slip quietly, clenching his fist as he confirmed visually that it was definitely Illya.

And then the C.I.A. did the same, bringing out their three prisoners as well.

Solo looked at his watch as the minutes ticked away until the agreed upon time arrived and the captives all began their journey to freedom across the bridge; they had been instructed to walk and not to run. Though seeing how his partner moved; he doubted Illya could run even if he wanted to. They were 'crossing the Rubicon' now and everything had to go according to plan.

Napoleon watched as his friend began walking slowly, his steps short and measured. Then he staggered at one point, holding on to the metal girders of the expansion bridge to steady himself. Solo wanted so badly to go to him and help, but if he made one more; the East Germans would surely gun them both down.

"Come on tovarisch, you can do it...try to walk a little faster?" Napoleon whispered.

As Illya finally made it to the western side of the bridge; it was then Napoleon saw how frighteningly gaunt and weak his partner was. He wore a clean prison uniform but his hair was filthy and looked as though it had been hacked and a scraggily beard covered his thin face. His eyes were sunken, with dark circles under them but it was the look in them Napoleon found disconcerting as they seemed lifeless with no expression at all. The bright blue of Illya Kuryakin's eyes seem glazed over and dull.

Solo was shoved aside as he tried to grab Illya but before he could even say a word, Kuryakin was pushed quickly into one of the two waiting Mercedes and the door slammed closed in Napoleon's face. He climbed into the second car, annoyed that he was being cut off from his partner.

On the East German side, the STASI agents and the KGB agent each entered their respective cars. That was the moment the train arrived, traveling noisily under the bridge and that was when Elliott, had patiently watched the drama unfold as she saw the frail movements of her Illuysha, struggling to cross the span. She saw him pulled into the car, then on the East German side the STASI agents and the KGB agents disappeared into their respective vehicles as they received smiles and pats on the back.

That was the train arrived, traveling noisily beneath the bridge and that was when she fired her rifle, hitting the rear of the vehicle containing the STASI with two shots on the side where the fuel tank was located. No one heard them, nor did they notice the nearly clear liquid that slpattered on the the fender.

The lead car with the KGB remained untouched as it pulled away then the second car, then followed by the third car with the STASI.

Elliott turned, running down the hill; throwing her rifle into the trunk of the waiting Volvo, with her partner Ari Ziv behind the wheel. She climbed into the car, saying nothing as they sat waiting while she looked at her watch, ticking off the time.

Nine minutes and fifty-five seconds later she began the count down. "Five, four, three, two, one..." There was silence, then a huge explosion, followed by a second and Elliott smiled as she turned to see a the flash and smoke on the other side of the 'wall.'

"Burn in hell ye feckers!" she cursed as Ari hit the gas pedal, taking off for headquarters.

"I would love to be a fly on the wall when the infighting over this little surprise breaks out!" Ari said. "and let's hope to God the C.I.A. doesn't pull anything when they find out it was U.N.C.L.E. who added this little revison to their deal?"

"Please, don't ye even think it Ari, though I'm sure the old man won't let that little secret out" Elliott said, fearing a double cross by the C.I.A. as they had already pulled a fast one with Illya as it were. Her secret fear was that now that they had Illya in their custody, they might not decide to give him up, in spite of threats made to them by Alexander Waverly.

The two Mercedes pulled up in front of a complex of buildings, guarded by U.S. military personnel and Kuryakin was whisked inside immediately. Leaving Napoleon outside shouting his protests to the guards that blocked his way.

"What the hell is going on here? This was not where we were supposed to be taken!" He tried muscling his way through the door but was shoved back. "I'm an American citizen and I have a right to go in there!" he insisted.

"Sorry sir, this is a United States Military facility and headquarters of the U.S. Berlin Brigade. And you are not a member of the Military nor a member of the Mission staff. So please step back sir."

Napoleon refused and they shoved him back without a word, aiming their rifles at him. He stopped, straightening his jacket, then smoothing the stray hair that had fallen out place on his forehead before he walked calmly away towards the parked Mercedes; leaning against it as he pulled out his communicator.

"Channel D overseas relay-Waverly"

"Yes Mr. Solo, was the exchange success?"

"Yes sir and our little suprise went off without a hitch but I'm afraid the C.I.A. has pulled a little something of their own. They've taken him to the U.S. Misson instead of going directly to headquarters...and they won't let me in to see him."

"What the deuce? I'll see to this Mr. Solo, you stay put in the mean time. Out"

Napoleon adjusted his communicator, making another call, "Channel F- Elliott Kuryakin."

"Napoleon where the hell are ye? We're here at headquarters. Ye should have been here before us. What's happened? _Please_ tell me he's alright?"

Napoleon could hear the anxiety creeping into her voice.

"They diverted us to USBER and I can't get inside. Waverly is trying to see what's going on."

"Oh Jay-sus Napoleon, what the hell are they up to? I'm on my way. Out!"

Napoleon waited impatiently outside the building, looking up at it's architecture as he paced, suddently remembering that it was once was the former site of the headquarters of the German Luftwaffe for Berlin defence during the Nazi years. On the ends of some of the buildings were Nazi ornamentation; large cement eagles on some of the corners, minus the swastika that used to be at their feet but still a stark reminder of the past.

Elliott and Ari pulled up to the mission a half hour later, and she flew out of the car, heading straight towards Solo.

"I want ta know what the feck is goin' on here dammit!"

He grabbed her by the shoulders," Calm down, losing your cool is not going to help him."

"Help him, what do ye mean help him? I don't understand why this is happening? How can ye be so calm about this?" She pulled free of his grip walking to the door, but was immediately blocked by the guards.

"Ye are holding my husband in there and I better be let in ta see him or there will be hell to pay ye bollaks!"

"Ma'am, please step back." the soldier tried telling her nicely.

Elliott reached for her special but Napoleon was by her side in an instant restraining her before she ended up getting herself shot.

A well dressed man in a business suit appeared at the door, addressing her. "Excuse me, you said you were his wife...you are Mrs. Kuryakin?"

"Yes I am."

"Alright then, you can come with me please."

"Excuse me?" said Napoleon, "what about me?"

"And you are?"

"I'm his partner Napoleon Solo, and I was authorized to be part of the exchange process. Just exactly why was Mr. Kuryakin brought here instead of the agreed upon location...U.N.C.L.E. headquarters on the Friedrichstrasse?"

"I apologize Mr. Solo, you should have been informed that Mr. Kuryakin had passed out and it was deemed safer to bring him here for medical treatment rather than take the longer drive to your headquarters. Your Mr. Waverly has just contacted us and we informed him of the situation."

They were escorted inside but stopped at a security desk. "I do have to ask you both to please surrender your weapons before we prodeed to the infirmary? They will be returned to you when you leave."

The did as requested and were taken to Illya's hospital room. Napoleon reached his arm around Elliott's shoulders supporting her as she gasped when she she finally saw her Russian for the first time in over a month and a half.


	8. Chapter 8

Illya lay propped up with several pillows in his hospital bed; his hair chopped and ragged looking, there was a raw scar on his head that still had stitches in it. He had several IV's inserted into his arm. He was hooked up to a heart monitor and receiving oxygen.

But it was his thinness that shocked Elliott. Under the oxygen mask and unkempt beard she could see the sunkenness of his face and his arms looking so frail laying limp at his sides. His eyes were closed but as soon as he heard voices, they opened wide; though they were unfocused and blinked very little.

Elliott moved towards him but the doctor stopped her." Don't touch him...he has an aversion to being touched. I gave him a mild sedative to calm him and I don't want him upset again."

"You are Madame Kuryakina correct?"

Elliott nodded to him, all the while not taking her eyes from her husband.

"I am Doctor Chirkoff, please I need to have some words with you in private?"

He looked at Napoleon, indicating that he should leave; then Elliott spoke, "This is Napoleon Solo and he stays...he's family."

"Alright then Ma'am. Firstly, your husband was brought here instead of your headquarters simply because he passed out. I don't want you thinking there was any sinister motives behind it since he's Russian. He is not being held here I assure you."

"Mr. Kuryakin is suffering from severe malnutrition, dehydration and a slight case of pneumnia. He has a large laceration to his head that was treated crudely though I'm not sure if it was for an injury or if it was some sort of sick surgical procedure. Until he starts talking we won't know if any of his cognitive skills have been affected, if they indeed did operate on his brain?"

"He seems to have no major injuries or broken bones, but his body is covered with small lacerations and bite marks. Though he was nearly catatonic when he was first brought in; he became quite animated when we had to insert the pic-lines for the IVs. He went from a docile state to being instantly hostile and defensive about being touched. That's when we had to sedate him just to get the IVs in."

"Right now he just stares but has a very slow blink reflex...it's obvious that he's suffered severe emotional and psychological trauma, more so than physical," the doctor paused for a moment, sighing before he continued, " and unfortunately I need to inform you that your husband has been raped. I don't think the sex was concentual and it seems to have occurred multiple times from what I can see from the extent of the injuries. Ma'am I'm so sorry."

Elliott covered her mouth with her hands as she fought back her tears. She knew that was one of his secret fears that he had finally shared with her when she had discussed her own rape by Terrence Finnerty when they were on assignment in Belfast.*

Napoleon's face went red with anger, shaking his head as her lowered it with his eyes closed. "Oh Jesus?" he whispered to himself as he placed his hand reassuringly on Elliott's shoulder.

"I would suggest just talking to your husband for the moment. Please don't make any attempt to touch him just yet. Perhaps he'll respond to your voice differently; at the moment, he responds to commands, doing as he's told but says nothing."

"I have him on a cocktail of antibiotics and IV fluids, but he needs to eat. I'm having some milk and dairy products being brought up now; if he doesn't seem willing to feed himself, then you might give it a try?"

Dr. Chirkoff spoke reassuringly to Elliott, trying to make her feel better.

'Ma'am, he's going to make it through this, I assure you his heart is good and he is surprisingly strong for a man his size. As soon as we increase his food intake, his basal metabolism is going to increase so we'll be monitoring his blood chemistry carefully, especially his phosphate, magnesium and glucose levels. The reintroduction of increased food may cause some abdominal discomfort so I've added and anitdopamineric through his IV to surpress any nausea and vomiting. We should see signs of improvement in three to five days."

"He is going to need pshycological counseling as well, once we get him in better physical shape."

"No that's not a good idea," Elliott warned.

"Pardon?"

Napoleon stepped in at that point, "How soon can you have him stabilized enough to travel?"

Doctor Chirkoff looked a bit surprised."You want to move him already? Please, you need to give him some time. This man has suffered greatly and needs to begin to heal. He needs to be in a stabile, safe environment. I really don't recommend moving him yet."

"No offense Doctor, but Mr. Kuryakin is a citizen of the Soviet Union and is in this state due in part to the actions of a branch of the United States government. He was assisting on what we all thought was a rescue mission of an American citizen, so you'll pardon us for feeling a bit concerned at him being in a U.S. military installation in the hands of the people who caused his sufferings in the first place?" Solo answered quite bluntly.

"I understand. I'm aware that it was the C.I.A. who brought him in. The both of you have my full assurance that there will be no questioning or involvement with them while he is here...not on my watch. If you'd feel more comfortable, I can have a cot set up so one of you can stay with him at all times?"

"Yes, that would be good Doctor, thanks," Elliott said.

For the next five days Elliott and Napoleon took turns staying with Illya but only after Napoleon's insistence, as Elliott would have been with him 24/7 if she had her way.

She spoke to him softly each day, and helped him to drink and eat his food, and by the fourth day he was feeding himself. He still would not make eye contact with either of them, but he did begin to speak, but only in Russian.

Elliott translated for the doctor as Illya was not saying anything that was classified, he kept whimpering over and over, "pazhaluista ne raz_please not again."

Then he began to finally say his special name for her as if he were calling out to her, but only in a whisper.

"Annushka...Annushka."

"Ya zses', moya lyubov'...gde ty? Pridi do mne. Ya pryamo zdes.' Posmotri na menya_I'm here my love...where are you? Come to me. Look at me!" She grabbed his chin with her hand, turning his face to her, but this time he did not shrink away from her touch.

"Prosmotri na menya_look at me!" she ordered him this time.

Illya's eyes gradually focused, staring at her face until there was that moment of recognition and his return to her as his eyes welled with tears. He reached out to her, wrapping his arms around her as she leaned into him, burying his face into her chest as he began to sob quietly.

Elliott rocked him gently," shush my love, I'm here...we're together and it's going ta be alright now."

Napoleon stood at the door watching as his partner returned from where ever it was he had retreated to; tears falling down his own cheeks. He waited a few minutes, wiping them away, then walked to Illya's bedside.

"He buddy, you had us worried there for a bit."

"You found me Napoleon...thank you." Illya whispered.

"I'd love to take credit tovarisch, but it was Mr. Waverly who came to the rescue on this one. He had it out with those bastards at Langley and they finally acknowledged they knew where you were...though they still won't tell us where _that _was. So what happened, can you talk about it?"

Illya pushed himself up in the bed a little, then clasping Elliott's hand in his, he steadied himself as he recounted his capture by the STASI then subsequent transfer by Viktor Karkoff to Solovki. He spoke of his treatment, though he never mentioned being raped.

"I'm pretty sure the C.I.A. set you up on this one." Napoleon said.

"Do you think?" Illya answered facetiously," there was never an American for me to rescue."

"Yet I have to tell you they were the ones that set up the prisoner exchange to get you back? I can't figure that one out yet." answered Solo.

"Though we gave the STASI quite a surprise as they left the exchange site...I blew up their car." Elliott smiled wickedly, " If I'd known those KGB bastards were involved too; I'd have blown their car ta kingdom come as well!"

The next day the three agents were winging their way on a private U.N.C.L.E. jet, with a nurse as part of the crew for Illya's needs while they returned to New York; there Kuryakin would continue his recovery at medical. No one discussed the fact that Doctor Max Schneider and Dr. Dennison had both concurred that Illya was going to need sessions with a psychiatrist. That news would have to wait once they arrived at headquarters.

Napoleon and Elliott both left Illya in the hands of Max Schneider to break the news to him and made a hasty retreat to Waverly's office for their debrief. When they arrived they received a surprise, seeing Bill Klein sitting at the conference table.

Elliott glared at he man but said nothing, she was still annoyed at Waverly's part in her husband's predicament but again kept her mouth shut.

The only acknowledgement came from Solo who simply said "Bill," nodding as he seated himself one chair away from the man.

"Look." Klein said, "I need to give you folks a bit of an explanation for what was going on and why we couldn't talk. You see we sent your Mr. Kuryakin in on a false mission and there was no..."

"I knew it!" Napoleon blurted out ," You did set him up!"

"Now give me a minute to finish here...yes we did set him up, and we were the one's who siccced the STASI on him to pick him up, but after that our plan went a bit off target. We hadn't planned on that jagoff from the KGB butting in and taking him to the Solovki gulag; we assumed the STASI would hang onto him. It took a quite of bit of searching before we found out where Karkoff took him, let me tell you."

Elliott had surprisingly held her temper up to this point but then opened up, hitting Klein with both barrels.

"Feckin' sons of bitches set my Illya up? And why the fuck did ye do that, and it better be the greatest explanation on God's earth that I've ever heard, so help me!"

Normally Alexander Waverly would not tolerate such language in his presence but he simply remained quiet, taking in everything as an observer as he puffed away seemingly content on his pipe. His eyes twinkling a bit as Elliott laced into Klein.

"I understand ma'am why your upset..."

"Upset? Ye think I'm _upset_? Ye nearly get my husband feckin' killed and ye think that's how I feel? Trust me, right now I'm in a bit more of a violent mood." Her voice seethed with contempt as she spoke to Klein.

"Alright Klein" Napoleon interrupted, attempting to defuse Elliott's temper." what was this important operation that nearly cost my partner his life?"

"Well you see, it was kind of like a chess game we were playing with the Russkies, we sacrificed a pawn to gain an advantage...and that advantage was the KGB agent we swapped for Mr. Kuryakin. Though your little explosion stunt with the STASI caused us some problems, you're just lucky that you didn' blow the Russian's car as that would have ruined everything."

"And what was this so-called _advantage_?" Elliott hissed.

"That KGB agent is working for us as a double agent and we needed to get him back home without putting him under a cloud of suspicion...so what better cover than a prisoner exchange for a sister agency that had gotten itself in trouble with the East Germans. That's why we gave up the East German agents in the exchange...the KGB boy added in was the bonus to make them give Kuryakin up."

"That Karkoff fellow nearly cocked up the whole deal by taking your man out of the hands of the STASI though, we got lucky on that one," Klein smiled.

"Elliott stood up from her chair lunging at Klein," Ye feckin' cold-hearted bastard, ye used my husband in a feckin' chess gambit? she screamed at him. Napoleon grabbed Elliott by the arms, stopping her as he yelled at Klein himself.

"She's right, you are a bastard Klein, after all the things Illya Kuryakin has done to help your people for all these years and this is what you did to him?"

He released his grip on Elliott and suddenly took a swing at Klein, giving him an upper-cut to the jaw, sending the man flying backwards out of the chair to the floor.

Napoleon then grabbed Elliott's arm, pulling her with him as he turned, leaving the conference room without another word.

Alexander Waverly sat, still saying nothing as Bill Klein struggled to his feet, holding his chin.

"That son of a bitch just attacked a Federal agent and a representative of the United States government; I want his ass thrown in jail!"

"There will be no such action taken." Waverly said calmly, " and there will be no retailiation on your part Mr. Klein, other wise I well see to it that I have your head handed to me on a silver platter. This matter as far as you're concerned is over. And I warn you that in the future, any such duplicitious behavior on the part of 'the company' will be dealt with harshly. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir, you are crystal clear."

"Good, now you will be escorted out of the building by _my_ security immediately. And I don't want to hear from you again for a very long time Mr. Klein. Now _you_ are dismissed." Waverly gestured with his hand as if flicking an annoying insect away from him.

The doors to the conference room opened silently and a security team was waiting there in the corridor to take Bill Klein away.

Napoleon and Elliott returned to medical just in time to be missed being hit by a serving tray as it went flying across the room; it having gone past Nurse Walsh as she ducked.

"Mr. Kuryakin please restrain yourself?" she barked at him.

"What, food not to your liking?" Napoleon smiled

"NO...they, they want to send me to a psychiatrist. I am fine. I just need some decent food that is all."

*reference to "The Mind Control Affair"


	9. Chapter 9

Elliott walked into Illya's room in medical, receiving a pleasant surprise as her husband was clean-shaven and his hair had been clipped; at least giving him a well groomed appearance, though his hair being that short did not exactly please him.

The beard that had hidden his sunken cheeks now revealed his thinness, making it more obvious. His color looked better today and his eyes brighter. She had wanted to bring Demya to see his papa, but Illya refused; telling her that his looks would frighten the child. He wanted to wait until he put on a few more pounds to his frame. Though she thought it wrong; Elliott went along with his wishes. At least Demmy was able to speak to his father over the telephone, and that would have to suffice for now.

Elliott leaned in trying to kiss Illya on the lips but he turned his face, avoiding her. She didn't push the matter as she knew that her husband did things when he was ready and not before. He was not himself yet and she understood that would take time.

Illya felt badly he had just done that to her, but he just couldn't kiss her or be kissed. He had too much going on in his head; too many conflicting emotions pulling at him. His old nightmares were back haunting him, as well as his new ones as now and no matter how hard he tried to push them out of his mind; they kept coming back. So much so that he actually accepted something from Max Schneider to help him sleep. But Illya promised himself that it would only be for a short while. That he at least could control.

It was the second time he had almost died at Solovki that was troubling him deeply. His thoughts of his ever so brief converstion with the man Yakov set him to wondering as he had, if he really should have died back in Kyiv or in Syrets? Why was it that he was the one who lived while others died? His family, Irina the other besprizornyh detyei_street children, Katiya Revchenkov.* Why?"

He was feeling survivor's guilt over the death of people long gone. It was an emotion he had never had some how dealt with, never one he had to file away, never had to compartmentalize. He had dealt with guilt on some levels thoughout his life, but not like this. He felt defeated, emasculated by his inability to defend himself against being raped, in the end he let Lazar' molest him and had even stopped struggling...he had given up. Guilt haunted him for that and now for being being a survivor again, while the man Yakov who was probably one of the street children he had saved back in Kyiv, died in Solvoki.

He knew it was his stubborn Russian male pride telling him that it was an ultimate weakness not to have been able to defend his own masculinity. He had protected himself from rape all his life and had succeeded until now. He felt as if he were a failure to himself.

Elliott had been raped and when it happened; it affected him deeply but not that it had happened to him, he realized the helplessness and horror she must have felt. Yet she got over it. She told him she would never forget how it made her feel, but still she was able to move on. So why could he not do the same thing? He could not bring himself to discuss it with her.

And then when the next day came and Elliott tried to kiss him again and he refused her; she knew it was time to talk, whether he wanted to or not. If he would not discuss what troubled him this time, then for once Illya Kuryakin would have to listen, whether he liked it or not.

"Enough was enough, stubborn Russian or not." she told herself; she could be stubborn as well.

He had refused to work with the psychiatrist Dr. Dennison; Illya simply laying in bed with his arms crossed, not responding to the man at all. If he didn't get himself back on track, once he was released from medical he could conceivably be put on a desk job or forced into retirement. Neither of which she saw going well for him. He would have to pass a psyche exam in order to be recertified. And he couldn't pass it while he continued to refuse to speak with the doctor.

Elliott Kuryakin leaned over to her husband, whispering to him...intimate words they said to each other when they made love, things that she knew always would make him more amorous.

He looked into her eyes with great saddness. "Nyet, pazhaluista_no please? Do not do this to me?"

"Illuysha, ye know I understand," she said stroking his hair, "Ye know I do?" Nothing has changed, you are still the same man I love and you are no less a man. Ye have been injured, just as if they broke yer arm or a leg. Ye'll heal, ye'll be fine."

He said nothing to her, crossing his arms just as he did with Dennison like an unyielding child, not willing to talk about it.

"Illya Nickovich, I know it was a horrible violation. It happened to me and I'm still here? I haven't changed, except I'm now all the more stronger because of it. They can hurt our bodies but they can never touch our souls. Ye just have to let it go and stop thinking about it."

She watched as a small tear trickled down his cheek, but he quickly wiped it away with his hand.

"That is how you dealt with it? Elliott, I am a man...it is different for a man and besides there is more to it than that."

"Don't give me that I'm a man so it's different horse manure? Don't insult me please?"

"I am sorry, I did not mean it that it was less terrible for you. Annushkha, I never meant that."

"Well ye just have to get over it and get on with life. If I hadn't stopped thinking about it, I never would have been able to be...intimate with you again. Rape isn't sex, it's violence, it's a demeaning form of _torture_. Ye need to keep reminding yerself that it was torture. And ye have _always_ survived torture in the past haven't ye?"

Illya huffed. "That is easier said than done. I can truly understand how a woman now feels violated by rape. It is disturbing on so many levels. I cannot discuss it...I do not want anyone to know?"

"Illuysha, I know better than anyone how private a man ye are, but I also know ye are one of the strongest and obstinate men I have ever met in my life. Call on that strength of yers and fight the good fight. Get off that skinny arse of yers and talk ta the doctor?"

Again he said nothing.

His silence left Elliott frustrated. "I have to go. I'll be putting Demmy on the telephone after the supper, so ye be in a good mood fer yer son or else." she warned him with a pointing finger. Then she left him alone with his thoughts.

Napoleon appeared just after dinner time in medical and he was sure his partner was not in a good mood. He had just come from personnel records having done the same favor for his partner that he had done for Elliott, though he could never tell him. He had the record of his molestation removed from his personal file. The only knowledge of it now was in the heads of only a very few people, and ones that would never divulge Illya's secret. As CEA he had certain priviledges, and being the heir apparent to Alexander Waverly, Napoleon Solo had more pull than any other section two agent and this was one of those times he used it.

His partner was a private a man; if word of this leaked he knew the Russian would be mortified, he with that stubborn pride of his. It was bothering his Illya that much he knew, but Napoleon also understood that it would be hard for him to even broach the subject with his friend. That would be crossing the line, and Illya wouldn't allow it, he kept the door closed to Solo on so many things even after all these years. Though it no longer bothered him as he understood that was just the Russian's way, but for once he decided to try. Someone had to talk some sense into him.

"Hello partner of mine...I must say you've cleaned up nicely."

"Hhmm."

"Aw come on will you please lighten up for once?"

"I cannot." Illya shoved a bowl of yogurt aside, giving it a look of disdain," I am still hungry and all the feed me is yogurt and baby food. I want something that I can chew?"

"Well then this may be your lucky day. Your wish is my command your Lordship."

"Do not call me that." Illya said curtly.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Napoleon, please?"

"Alright." he said not understanding why the word 'lordship' was bothering him," here's something that might even cheer even a grouchy Russian bear."

Napoleon produced a brown paper bag from behind his back, placing it on the bed table.

Illya pushed aside the bowl of yogurt, opening it; smiling when he removed the contents of the sack."Pastrami on rye?" he said, smelling it even before he unwrapped the sandwich.

"Yep and it's all yours tovarisch."

"Napoleon, you are a life saver."

"So I've been told. Just eat it quick before Nurse Walsh sees it. Look we need to broach an uncomfortable subject?"

"No we do not," he said as he took a large bite of the sandwich, "because I mrefuse to talk about it. I do not want any misguided sympathies nor do I wish to be a subject of conversation. I can hear them now, 'poor Illya'.

"Don't talk with your mouth full. And it's not sympathy Illya, it's a realistic outlook. You need to talk to Dennison; if you don't then you won't be recertified and I lose my partner. Come on, you've aced psyche exams before?

"I know you are right. Elliott has been trying to tell me the same thing."

"Then stop being so stubborn and listen to the two people who care about you more than anyone else in the world...well except maybe for Bella" he smiled. "You're my best friend and more like a brother than my own brother Hannibal. I really am being very selfish here," he flashed Illya one of his smiles," I don't want to have to break in a new partner after all these years?"

That made Illya laugh just a bit. "I will not make any promises but I will at least think it over."

"That's a the most positive thing I've heard from you lately." Napoleon looked at his wristwatch," I have to run, lots of paperwork to catch up on. See you later."

"That is why you want me re-certified, so I can do your reports for you!" he called out to his partner.

Solo headed downstairs to his office, digging into the backload of paperwork that always seemed to pile up on him; not just field reports, but budget reports, notes from his Monday briefings, all things that his partner usually helped him clear with ease. He suddenly regretted that he had never learned to type as Illya had done and was just about ready to call Janet, the section two secretary for some help when his telephone rang.

"Napoleon?"

"Hi Max, what can I do for you?"

"Let's talk pastrami sandwich?"

"Ugh, what about it?"

"You know damn well that you gave one to Kuryakin...let's say that Nurse Walsh is gunning for you now after having to clean up the mess that was made when your partner heaved up his insides?"

"Sorry, I had no idea a little sandwich would cause a problem?"

"Look, I'm the doctor here, not you," Schneider said, "you knew the diet he was on and still you had to do what you felt like doing? Napoleon, he was barely ready for solids, but come on...pastrami?"

"I said I was sorry Max. I promise I won't do it again." Napoleon cringed at the thought of what his innocent gesture had done to Illya.

"If I catch you or anyone else slipping him unauthorized food; there will be hell to pay. You understand me?" Max hung up the phone before Napoleon could say another word.

A week later Illya was released from medical and sent home, still weak and underweight but nothing that required hospitalization. Demya was exuberant to see his father, but had to be cautioned not to jump and Illya was hard-pressed to lift his son next to him on the sofa. Boris hopped up into Illya's lap, moving very gingerly as if she sensed something was wrong, then finally curled up purring loudly, telling him she was happy that he was home at last.

"Papa, I missed you so much. Why were you gone so long? And why are you so skinny? You look different."

"Papa had a very hard job to do and then he...he caught a very bad cold. So I could not come home until I was better. I am thinking that I don't like your job anymore. I wish you were home. Aunt Bella's nieces and nephew's papas all come home at night after work, why can't you? And why does mama go away so much too? The other children't mamas don't do that."

Illya closed his eyes, trying to control himself as did not want to become upset in front of his son, as the child was asking valid questions. It bothered him that he had to answer them all with lies. What was he doing? Why was he doing this job that nearly killed him. He thought perhaps it was time to retire to the lab after all. Then he could be a good father to his son and a good husband...or could he? "Was he good enough to be what his wife and son needed him to be?"

There was little conversation at dinner, one that Elliott prepared according to Max Schneider's instructions. Solid foods, but light and no spices. Illya's appetite was good and he managed a second helping, pleasing Elliott. It did help that she was an excellent cook.

He was still tiring easily and had an appointment early the next morning for physical therapy as his muscles had atrophied and needed to be strengthened, helping Elliott to clean up was an effort for him. He kissed his son good night and while Elliott put Demya to bed, Illya undressed, crawling under the covers of his own bed with a sigh of contentment. It had been nearly three months since had he felt the comfort of it and smiled as he felt the soft coolness of the cotton sheets. It was so comforting to be home, safe.

Elliott undressed in the dark, then slipped in beside her husband, running her hand gently along his body then reached down...

"Nyet" he whispered.

Elliott pressed her body against him, whispering to him, being persistant.

Illya finally rolled over facing her as she kissed him on the lips, but he returned it half heartedly. He got up, leaning over Elliott wanting to give her what she wanted, but found he couldn't. He dropped to his side, turning away from his wife, embarrassed at his impotency.

"I am sorry." he whispered to her.

Elliott cried softly as they went to sleep, worrying about what was happening to her Illuysha.

The next morning, Illya Kuryakin took a taxi to headquarters, and after his physcial therapy session he knocked on the door of Doctor Dennison.

reference to "The Thirty Seven Bridges Affair"


	10. Chapter 10

Alexander Waverly had let Illya Kuryakin slide for as long as possible in regards to seeing seeing Dr. Dennison; knowing his section two agent's dislike of anything medical but especially the psychiatrists on staff.

His Russian agent been poked, prodded and his mind picked apart back in the Soviet Union in his early career working for the GRU, and he supposed that was where he developed his intense dislike for them Their sessions with him back home were far less kind than the ones here at U.N.C.L.E. But Waverly knew it was time to light a fire under Kuryakin; other wise he could end up losing one of his best agents.

So when Illya arrived at the reception desk at the agent entrance in Del Floria, that morning Wanda was waiting for him with a message.

"Good moring Illya," she said as she leaned forward actually pinning his badge on for him; which at the moment he realized was a 'first'. That was a priviledge always afforded Napoleon and not he.

"Thank you Wanda, good to see you." he mustered a little smile for her, which she seemed to please her as she beamed, smiling in return.

"They're waiting for you in medical."

"Yes I know."

"No Illya I mean they're _waiting_ for you. Mr. Waverly said if you didn't make it over to Dr. Dennison's office after your physical therapy; then he was going to send a couple of the guys from security to physically take you there."

He was taken aback for just a moment, but then he was aware that he had pushed Waverly as far as he could on the issue, so it mattered not that he had intended to do the Dennison that morning. "Chyort_shit." he muttered to himself as it now looked as though he were doing it under duress rather than of his own volition.

"Thank you Wanda, I have been forewarned." he nodded, heading through the door , then down the corridor, taking the elevator up to medical, and to the physical therapy wing.

They put him through his paces with light calesthenics and weight training; lifting the barbells with satisfaction as he could feel his strength beginning to return. Then to finish up the routine, he was put on a treadmill for some cardio-vascular exercise.

The therapists were pleased with his progress as was he and for a short while during each of his exercise sessions he would feel good as the surge of endorphins kicked in. His worries and sadness didn't seem so bad then, that was until the rush from the exercise wore off and he would find himself feeling uneasy and depressed again.

He showered after physical therapy was completed then headed over to Psych; knocking on Dr. Dennison's door. The red light outside was not on, indicating he was not with anyone at the moment, so Illya opened the door sticking his head in.

"May I come in?"

"Yes Illya, by all means please do? I was expecting you."

"So I was told." he said as he sat down in a chair in front of the desk.

A moment later an unfamiliar man with dark curly hair and glasses, walked into the office. He conferred a second with Dennison and then was handed a file.

"Presumably mine," Illya thought to himself as he watched the two whispering, not able to hear a word.

"Illya, I am putting you in the very capable hands of Dr. Robert Mansur here as I know you and I tend to mix like oil and water. I thought someone that you were not familiar with, someone not familiar with you either for that matter might help bring a different perspective into the mix.

So I will leave you two to become acquainted."

Dr. Mansur thumbed through Illya's file, though Kuryakin was sure the man had already seen it.

"Well Mr. Kuryakin, you have been through quite a bit over the years."

Illya gave him no response or reaction.

"How are you sleeping Mr. Kuryakin? I saw that Dr. Schneider had given you a prescription for sleeping tablets."

"As well as can be expected."

"Should I finish that sentence for you? he added, "Under the circumstances?"

"Under what circumstances are you referring to?

"The ones causing you not to sleep."

"I did not say that I was not sleeping."

"You implied..." Mansur began.

Illya cut him off. "I implied nothing. If you wish me to clarify, then I will."

"Please enlilghten me Mr. Kuryakin?" Mansur leaned back in his chair, jotting down a few notes on a legal pad.

"I am a section two agent...what I was referring to was the possibility of being attacked while one sleeps, ergo section two agents have learned to sleep very lightly as a matter of self preservation while on missions."

"And what about when you are not away on assignment, when you are at home? I understand you are married, how does your wife feel about your sleeping habits?"

"Dr. Mansur as you well know, my wife is also a section two agent and as to how she feels about my sleeping habits; you would have to ask her."

Mansur then asked him bluntly,"How is your sex life with your wife?"

"Excuse me Doctor? Illya paused for a second then stood up from the chair, "I think we are done."

"SIT DOWN Mr. Kuryakin," Mansur ordered, "otherwise I will get Mr. Waverly involved, understand? Now SIT."

Illya flopped back down into the chair, overtly annoyed.

"Tell me about your last mission." Mansur said in a more relaxed tone of voice.

"It went bad, I was set up, captured. Then traded for two STASI and an agent of KGB."

"I hardly think that was it Mr. Kuryakin...your medical issues attest to the fact that you were treated sadistically by your captors.

"Yes, that is true,"Illya agreed," they were and are sadistic."

"Mr. Kuryakin...Illya if I may call you by your first name? I understand that you don't know me and I understand that you don't like psychiatrists but I assure you that every word to say to me is private and protected, even from the old man himself, and will never be discussed with anyone. Not even if Waverly orders me himself. I have my scruples and I take doctor-patient privledge very serious."

"Every agent that I see has issues, fears and pain that need to be addressed. Your life is all about keeping secrets but sometimes and an agent can lose himself in all that clandestine behavior. I'm not here to tell you what to do; I'm here to help you decide what to do to deal with your issues. And don't give me the bullshit 'I'm fine' line that I hear from every one of you section two agents who walks through my door."

"You walk a very precarious and thin line, eventually all the things done to you and by you become a heavy burden to bear...so when you fee like lightening your load a bit, you can talk to me. Now, we're done O.K.?"

Illya was surprised at Mansur's releasing him as well as the way he spoken to him. He had never been treated in such a manner by a psychiatrist. Usually they would try to rip into his psyche with Freudian methods churning out their theories of the unconsious mind, repression and free association. But he knew how to play the game; giving them the answers they needed to hear and they would certify him field-ready every time.

But perhaps doing that all these years was a mistake? Dr. Mansur was correct; he had a lot of secrets...and perhaps they were beginning to weigh upon him more than he realized. But it was his fears that were affecting him more than anything else; he knew that he could not continue with the way he was feeling, not when it was affecting himself, but his family as well. He had lost confidence in himself...as an agent and as a man.

"Very well Dr. Mansur, I will take your words under consideration. Thank you." Illya actually offered his hand to the man, who returned the gesture.

"Thursday morning at ten alright?"

Illya hesitated, "Yes." he answered, then left the office.

Mansur was pleased and he felt he had not only gotten past Kuryakin's hostility towards those in the psychiatric profession but some of his defences as well.

The simple gesture of Kuryakin offering his hand to him attested to that, as the Russian was known for being unsocialble. But knew that it still wasn't a sure thing that the agent would show up for his appoinment. The ball was in Kuryakin's court now.

Illya disappeared down to his lab even though he was not authorized to be there as he was still on medical leave but he went there just the same; hoping that no one would notice him.

There Illya sat alone, tinkering with some experimental miniature electronics; trying to get his mind to refocus. But as he worked, he found that he was unable to concentrate. He finally dropped his tools in disgust.

"Now what?" he asked himself. He was not ready to go home. His young son was a handful right now and he was not unable to keep up with the boy at the moment. He lacked energy due to the weakness of his musculature, he wasn't sleeping well and he was depressed. Illya did not want his son seeing him this way; he was the papa and was supposed to be strong. How could he be a role model for Demya?

The guilt and shame of his inablility to make love to Elliott was disturbing. She made little of his problem the next morning but he knew that she had cried to herself to sleep. She did not deserve such a husband, not the way he was now.

His mood was beyond his broodings and melancholia of the past; when he was that way he always retreated into his solitude. Elliott understood this...but what was happening to him now was so different and confusing. Pehaps it was better to not be alone at the moment?

Illya forced himself to seek out the company of other human beings in complete opposition to his normal behavior; he headed to the commissary. Perhaps if he were just around people at the moment; it would make him feel better?

He walked into the room, surveying who was there; picking up glass of apple juice rather that risking the acidic nature of coffee or tea on his still sensative stomach. As he walked slowly past a table where George Dennell and a few other were sitting he heard George call out to him.

"Hey Illya wanna join us?"

George was pleasantly surprised at Illya's answer as he'd only asked out of courtesy as he always had and the Russian had always declined until now.

Illya sat in a chair that George had pulled up for him.

"So how you getting along Illya? I heard you were on medical leave...I hope you don't mind me saying, but you look like you've lost a bit of weight?" George said.

"The answer is yes to both questions," he said taking a sip of his juice.

"Wow, was it a tough assignment?"

"As always...perhaps we could talk about something else though?"

"We were talking a bit of baseball Mr. Kuryakin," chimed in one of George's companions from communications, " are you familiar with the game?"

"Please, call me Illya," he answered politely," and no I am not familiar with it; though I have heard of it. I usually do not have time to follow organized sports...being on the go so much."

"You section twos have the life, all that travel; getting to go to all those exotic places and meeting interesting people. It all seems so exciting/"

"You have been reading too many of those spy novels," Kuryakin answered. "The life of a section two agent is not glamourous at all, and it is not always interesting. There is much pressure and danger. I suppose coming home intact is something to get excited about? Now enough shop talk...someone explain this game of baseball to me?" he said not to divert them, but his own mind.

Illya actually found himself enjoying the animated conversation about the American sport and when they were finished explaining everything they could about it; he thanked them, saying he actually found that it was interesting.

"Well Illya," smiled George, "we have a little softball league, a few of us get together on the weekends for a game or two. Why don't you come down and check it out. Watching a game is a lot more enjoyable than talking about it?"

"George, I just might do that." Kuryakin said as he stood up. "Gentlemen, thank you for the company and the information on baseball, it was most enlightening."

He left headquarters just after lunch time, suddenly deciding to try eating out just to see if he could handle it. Illya took a taxi to a place he had not eaten at in a long time...Changs Chinese Restaurant. He and Napoleon used to frequent it a lot, then he and Elliott, but once they had moved to Washington Square, they had stopped going.

He walked in the door of the small restaurant decorated with bright red walls, golden dragons and paper lanters hung from the ceiling.

"Ah Mr. K!" said the Mr. Lee the host," we not see you long time now and our takeout business very slow?" Maybe you coming back bring us good business again?"

He smiled just a little then apologized in Chinese. "Shì de wo bàoqiàn zhè shì yige hen zhang yiduàn shíjian..Dàn wo yijing jié le hun, wo de qizi shì yi wèi hen hao de chúshi_yes I am sorry it has been a ery long time...but I have gotten married and my wife is a very good cook."

"Lady with red hair?"

"Yes Lee, lady with red hair." he smiled.

Mr. Lee looked Illya up and down. "She good cook; then how come you so skinny?"

Illya blushed for a second at the man's simple candor, as that was the truth.

"I have been ill, but am on the mend now...that is why I came in for a visit, so you can help fatten me up again." he smiled, patting his stomach.

"Your Chinese still good." Lee laughed, "now we get you a good lunch, get you fat!"

Mr. Lee seated Illya at his usual booth, placing his order for wonton mein soup and chicken chow mein. A little bland compared to what he used to eat in the past, as he was still being cautious with his diet.

No sooner was his meal placed on the table, when Kuryakin heard a very familiar and unpleasant voice greet as a woman slipped on the the bench beside him in the booth.

"Hello Illya darling."

He sighed, not pleased to see the her.

"What do you want?"

"What no hello for me at all? she crooned as she held out her cigarette waiting for the Russian to be a gentleman and light it for her.

He did no such thing, but finally greeted her with disdain.

" Angelique, what do you want?"


	11. Chapter 11

"My my, you're not looking well at all my dear...I heard you had a little difficulty with the STASI recently? I hope it wasn't too painful? They can be so thorough can't they, so how are you holding _up_...I hope you can still _rise_ to the occasion darling?"

Illya rolled his eyes wondering if the entire espionage world knew his business...and of his humiliation. He showed his annoyance by simply frowning at her. "I repeat Angelique, what is it you want?"

"Always right to the point aren't you, never any foreplay at all, you know all work and no foreplay makes for a dull boy? Here I am trying to make polite conversation with an old friend and you treat me so shabbily."

"Angelique when it comes to you and I, the word friendship hardly applies; especially after the last trick you pulled on us in East Berlin?"*

She clicked her tongue at him, already finding the Russian bothersome.

"Well Illya darling, if you must know; I was in town for a few days between jobs so to speak and thought I'd visit dear Napoleon, but I don't seem to be able to find him. Do you know where he is?"

"He is out of the country and will be back tomorrow; but where he is at the moment; I would not tell you." he modulated his voice, conveying to her a seriousness to his words; then realized mentioning when Solo was returning had been a mistake. That was careless of him. Given his current state of mind and the fact that he was so distracted by it; he would have to remind himself to keep up his guard, especially where this woman was concerned.

She laughed. "How true, you and I have never mixed well have we?" She ran her finger aimlessly around the lid to the potful of green tea that sat on the table "Oh Illya don't you ever just relax? Napoleon has learned how to do it so well."

"I am not like Napoleon, nor will I ever be," he retored. Yet he could not resist to seize the opportunity to play 'cat and mouse' with her; trying to find out what she might be up to.

"Have you eaten...would you care to join me for lunch?"

Angelique was surprised at the Russian's invitation; it being seemingly out of character for him.

"Why Illya Kuryakin, I think there is hope for you yet mon cher? She batted her large, beautiful eyes at him. "But sadly I must decline, perhaps another time n'est pas?"she said offering her hand to him as she rose gracefully. Illya took her graceful hand in own hand and in a very Napoleon moment, kissed it; then watched Angelique as she walked seductively out of the restaurant.

Illya growled in revulsion as if he had just kissed a corpse, then quickly wiped his lips with a napkin, wondering how in the hell Napoleon could involve himself with her. It was the one thing to sleep with one's enemy to facilitate the completion of a mission, but to have an on-going affair with a woman that would kill him in the blink of an eye...that rationale escaped him completely.

Illya looking at his meal in disgust, now having lost his appetite; he asked for it to be packaged to go, but promising Mr. Lee he would return again. He left the restaurant, scanning the street carefully for the Thrush agent, or any one else who looked suspicious for that matter, then hailed a taxi to head home.

Once he arrived, he pulled his communicator, suspecting that it was near midnight in Porto Villa in Vanuatu; Napoleon was more than likely enjoying the company of a local melanisian beauty, though not in the biblical sense, or so he said...not since he became engaged to Bella Graziani.

Surprisingly his partner had remained true to her, which deep down inside surprised even the Russian; being all too familiar with Napoleon Solo's inumerable amorous adventures over the years. As his partner had once joked, it was such stuff as legends were made of. Yet in spite of that he belived his partner to be a man of honor.

"Open channel D, overseas relay-Solo."

"Solo here," he answered with a husky voice.

"Enjoying the weather?"

"If I were out in it I suppose, but I'm actually in bed. So you didn't call to discuss the weather did you?"

"Can you talk?"

"Yes... I'm alone if that's what you're trying to find out and why are you calling me at this hour, checking up on me? I have a very early flight back to New York in the morning and you just woke me out of a sound sleep, so this better be good?"

"My are we grumpy? I thought that role was usually reserved for me. So you have just answered several of my questions without having to ask and to answer yours, Angelique DuChien is in New York and looking for you, I thought you would like to know? I suspect it is not entirely for a social call."

"Angelique, really?"

Illya could practically hear his partner grinning in the pause that followed and he knew that he had gotten his full attention.

"Honestly Napoleon, I do not understand this relationship you continue to have with this woman after she has betrayed you...us, time and again. Are you going to continue your dalliances with that creature, now that you have Bella in your life?

"Illya, I have my reasons. And as to whether or not my associations continue with her...well we'll leave that as my business? Look, thanks for the heads up, I'll contact you once I'm back at headquarters." Napoleon hesitated for a moment as if he were not sure he should ask, " How are _you_ doing?"

"Fine, I am just fine."

Napoleon was tired and didn't feel like delving into the fact that meant his partner was still not doing well...

"Yeah right. It's been a long day, I have to get back to sleep. Out."

Illya closed the communicator, laying it down on the kitchen table, then stashed the take-out into the refrigerator as he sighed, shaking his head at Napoleon's cavalier attitude. He was good at all these sorts of games, where as he was not. He knew he possessed many talents that his American partner did not; that was why Waverly had paired them as partners so many years ago for that very reason. The were good at what they did as individuals but as partners...that was what made them the best in the organization.

For the most part he knew Napoleon well, his life story, and had met his family. Napoleon had never hesitated speaking to him about personal matters; yet there were things about the man he would probably never understand. But what did Napoleon really know about him? Just bits of information that he had let slip over the years. He had let Solo become more privy to his life after he had met Elliott, but he had always hidden his past from his best friend, under the mantra that '_the less people know about you, the longer you live'. _But was that really true when it came to Napoleon...or was it his pity that he feared, of seeming less in his partner's eyes? It was only with Elliott he had shared details of childhood and how he grew up, but even she did not know everything.

But with Napoleon, for some reason he guarded his past with a ferocious tenacity and yet he he still had regarded Napoleon more as a brother than his partner or a friend. But in spite of that lack of knowledge, Napoleon Solo could read him like a book. Giving Napoleon his trust with his life was all his partner seemed to need of him.

But now Illya was questioning if he still had the wherewithal to even continue to continue as a partner to Solo much less function as an agent,beside questioning his abilities to be a good husband and father. He had never felt so lost and confused in his entire life.

Waverly knew what each of them lacked the other made up for, but Illya now felt that he was lacking more than ever. He was once confident and self-assured of himself, sometimes even to the point of cockiness but now he was not sure of anything.

He laid down on the livingroom sofa feeling quite exhausted and this from doing little to nothing. He closed his eyes and drifted quickly off to sleep.

Elliott entered the vestibule with Demya in her arms having brought him upstairs from Auntie Olga's apartment in the basement. She entered the alarm code, setting her son down as soon as they were inside.

"Illusysha? Are ye home?" she called out. She had not seen or heard from him at headquarters even though she was aware he was there for his therapy. She was not surprised though as he was keeping to himself, trying to work things out. This last mission had given him terrible scars both physical and emotional, affecting him more than any other since she had known him. But this was different from an assignment that had gone bad, those he would brood over for a few day but then when he had worked it out in his head; he came back to her. But this time he was not coming back to her...he was caught in the personal suffering he experienced from this one.

Illya's eyes opened wide as soon as he heard the lock click open on the front door and watched quietly as his son peeked around the corner into the living room.

The boy had become quite astute at reading his father's moods. He walked into the room straight up to Illya, climbing on the couch with him, not saying a word until his father draped his arm around him.

"Papa, don't be so sad. You didn't do anything wrong."

Illya closed his eyes as the tears began to fall. He knew that was the truth...out of the mouth of babes, yet he could not face accepting it.

Elliott stood quietly watching Illya, crying as he held their son. She had told him time and again that he needed to let the pain go and would not repeat it again. He was going to have to solve this himself and realized that nothing she said or did would help wanted so badly to hold him, comforting him but she knew that wasn't what he needed. She too had to fight off the feelings of sadness, and prayed that she wasn't losing her husband to his pain and depression.

Demya reached up with his small hand, patting his father's cheek, wiping the tears away; imitating what his parents did for him when he cried. " Would you like a cookie papa?"

Illya let out little laugh, then sniffled as he sat up, hugging Demya to him. "Thank you Demyachka, you are a very kind boy, do you know that?"He looked up, seeing Elliott standing in the door way watching him, but said nothing.

Illya spent the night on the couch, even though he knew that upset his wife, but he could not bring himself to lay next to her feeling so disconnected. Either way, it was not fair to her...something else to add to his list of burdens that seemed to be becoming heavier as each day passed.

The next morning he left, not even seeing his family; walking across the street to the part, then finally he hailed a taxi; going to headquarters in the afternoon. Illya greeted Wanda politely as she sat at the reception desk at the agents entrance, but today he did it without a smile as she handed him his badge.

"Has Napoleon arrived yet?"

"No Illya as a matter of fact he's very overdue. He contacted us when his plane landed at JFK but we haven't heard from him since. He was supposed to come straight here?"

That did not bode well in Kuryakin's mind as he headed up to Waverly's office.

As always, the door opened silently as he entered.

"Mr. Kuryakin, what the devil are you doing here? You are not due until Thursday for your therapy and appointment with Dr. Mansur, if I am not mistaken...and don't try to deny that you were haunting the halls here yesterday. You are on not authorized for light duty.

"But sir..."

"Don't but sir me young man. What part of medical leave don't you understand?" Waverly seemed quite annoyed at him.

"_Mr. Waverly_," Kuryakin raised his voice slightly, "Sir I believe Mr. Solo may be in trouble?"

"And how would you know this?" he said, tapping his pipe in the ashtray; now giving his agent his full attention.

"Last night in Chinatown I encountered Angelique DuChien and she was looking for Mr. Solo. She tried to get me to reveal his where abouts. I am afraid I let slip that he was due back today and now he is overdue. Yet he reported that he would be coming directly to headquarters."

"Was Mr. Solo made aware of Miss DuChien's presence?"

"Yes sir that I spoke to him around midnight."

"This is indeed troublesome," Waverly said now popping the mouthpiece of his pipe into his mouth. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention; I'll assign agents to look into this immediately."

"But Mr. Waverly I can..."

His boss cut him off. "You are not to get involved Mr. Kuryakin, remember you are on medical leave and for a good reason and that's final. You are not permitted back in this building until Thursday morning to keep your appointments. When you are finished; you are to leave the premises and go home."

Illya Kuryakin left the conference room in a huff and as decent has he had been to Wanda coming into headquarters; he was rude to her on the way out, throwing his badge on the desk as he walked out without a word.

"You have a nice day too _Illya_," she called to him sarcastically.

Napoleon having gone missing had made him forget about his own problems for the moment as he now focused on the issue at hand. If Alexander Waverly thought for one moment that he would stand idly by and let others search for his partner; he was sorely mistaken.

Illya arrived home with a plan already formulated in his head as he picked up the telephone, dialing a private telephone number back at headquarters, ringing several times before it was answered.

"George Dennell here, how can I help you?"

"George, it is Illya...I need your help."

* reference to "The East Berlin Affair"


	12. Chapter 12

That was all George Dennell needed to hear. He was a section two wanna be that knew he would never be. The last time he had been pulled into the field was years ago during the Waverly Ring Affair; it was frightening but exhilarating experience none the less.

"Wow sure, what do you need...what ever it is, you can count me in. What's going on?"

"George suffice to say it is a long story and now is not the time for it. I am not permitted in headquarters until Thursday; right now Napoleon has gone missing and I need to know who Waverly has assigned to find him?"

"Napoleon missing? Wow, how long? I haven't heard anything about this..."

"George," Illya interrupted, "I need you to focus? I need the names of the agents assigned, can you get me that information now, please?"

"Sure, sure Illya hold on." A few moments later George returned to the telephone with their names. "Agents Bob Denman and Mike Anderson."

"Agents Denman and Anderson," Illya repeated, then cursed to himself. "chert poberi_dammit." Denman might be cooperative but Anderson his partner was a problem, as the man detested Illya as well as any other foreign agent in the New York office. But Illya knew that Anderson, always mumbling under his breath calling him a 'commie.' For this reason he could not rely on these agents descretion if he were to attempt to join them in the search for Napoleon.

"George you are going to have to be my inside man on this mission, can you do that?"

"Sure Illya no problem."

"If Denman and Anderson have not left the building then I need you to somehow place bugs on them."

"Gee Illya that's a mighty tall order."

"I know you can handle it George," Illya encouraged him.

George Dennell looked around his cubby-hole of an office, scratching his head for a moment. "Alright Illya I'll do it." he answered, trying to bolster his own confidence.

"And something else George, I will need you to borrow a surveillance van from the motorpool, fully loaded with tracking equipment."

"Illya now that's really a tall order. I don't know if I can..."

Sensing Dennell's nervousness; Illya preyed upon his ego.

"Come on now George you out manuevered some of Thrushes and UNCLE's best agents last time you worked with Napoleon and I...you are a clever man. You will figure out a way to do this, will you not? And one last thing George, no one is to know of this, not anyone. When you have everything set contact me by communicator...ummm, using the code " I think the Yankees may win the series this year." Understood?"

"Got it Illya,"

"Good, Kuryakin out."

Illya smiled as he hung up the receiver, now he only hoped that George would come through for him.

Napoleon Solo's head felt like it had exploded when he finally came to, finding himself sitting hancuffed to a chair. He was positoned in what looked like the middle of a darkened room, with a single light bulb suspended by a wire from the ceiling, dangling directly above his head.

"Oh Napoleon dearest," spoke an all too familiar voice from the shadows, "I am sorry to have to do this to you."

"Then don't do it," he answered groggily.

She stepped out of the shadows with and electronic cattle prod in her hand, undid his tie, then pulled down on the front of his shirt, ripping several buttons.

"Careful?" he snapped.

"Oh please, darling don't tell me...exploding buttons, really? How old school."

"Nooo, silk."

"Oh Napoleon, you are most amusing." she smiled," I suppose that is why I usually adore your company, unlike that partner of yours who can be so gauche."

"Usually?"

"Yes unfortunately, it is all about business today and we must forego our pleasures of the past."

"We could have pleasure first and then get down to business, why don't you just free my hands and I'll let you know what I mean?" he smiled at her, as he looked into her eyes.

"Why do I doubt that mon belle homme_my handsome man? I have heard the rumour that the great Solo is getting married?"

"You can't believe everything you hear?"

"Enough small talk, Napoleon be a dear and tell me where you've hidden that microdot? We know your were transporting it across the Pacific, but we lost track of you, then to have the incredible luck to simply spot you at the airport. Who would have thought it would have been so simple?

"You mean with a little help from Angelique?"

"Angelique? I think not." she said, dismissing her mentor's name.

"We've checked all your luggage for it and obviously it's not there...so it must be on your person. So we can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way?" she smiled, then winked.

"You know, I just don't remember what I did with that darned thing...so small, so easy to misplace."

"Wrong answer dearest..." she touched the cattle prod to his exposed chest.

Napoleon went stiff, stifling his pain. She continued with the contact of the electronic device to his skin as he began to squirm in the chair, struggling uselessly to free himself.

"Nooo, I won't tell you sorry," he let out a little moan.

"Tchk" she clicked her tongue, " Napoleon, you know how this hurts me to do this to you?"

"Hurts me, more than it does you" he quipped. He was started to sweat profusely.

"Napoleon, please? It would really be so much better if you just cooperated with me. My associates...the fellows who brought you in from the airport, do not have as such a delicated touch as I do. It would be a shame to ruin those chiseled features of yours.

"Sorry," Solo whispered, a touch of harshness in his voice," no deal."

"Have it your way. Boys?"

Two large goons appeared out of the shadows, each brandishing a set of brass knuckles.

"Oh boy, "Napoleon mumbled as he braced himself.

Open channel D- Kuryakin

"Kuryakin here."

"Hi Illya," said George," everything is set...ugh, I mean I think the Yankees will wind the series this year."

"I knew I could count on you, " The Russian smiled at Georges delivery of the unnecessary code phrase," can you bring the van to Chinatown? Park at the corner south of Chang's, I will meet you there at nine. Kuryakin out."

Illya stood in the shadows outside of changs, smoking a cigarette. It was now nine o'clock and Napoleon had been missing for at least ten hours. George finally appeared in the black van as Kuryakin extinguished his cigarette on the sidewalk with his shoe then stepped out of the shadows, dressed in his black suit and turtleneck.

He climbed into the passenger side of the van, telling George to pull into the alleyway on the the next block and the nervous man complied without question.

Illya climbed inot the back of the van, placing a set of headphones...then stopping for a second as a pang of doubt suddenly hit him.

"George you did plant the tracking bugs on Denman and Anderson did you not?"

"Absolutely, got em' right under the back of the collars of their suit jackets." he smiled proudly.

Illya nodded in satisfaction as he placed the headphones on, dialing the radio console until he picked up the signal. Luckily the two agents were in a car driving. If they had been in headquarters, then the frequencey would have been jammed.

"I don't even have a clue where to start." Anderson said.

"We'll start at the airport, flash his photograph and see if any of the workers have seen him," said Denman.

"At least there's one thing about this assignment,"said Anderson, " at least that commie prick Kuryakin is laid up and won't be in on this one."

"What is it with you? Why do you hate that Russian so much?"

"You said it right there, he's a Russkie, a red commie; what other reason do I need? One day the bastard will get his orders from the Kremlin and he'll turn on us. You mark my words."

"You need to knock that shit off Mike. Some day it's going to get you in trouble. You've been talking that trash for too long now and it's gonna catch up with you. Never know, one day you could be assigned to work with Kuryakin and he knows how you feel about him?"

Solo was fighting to keep himself conscious, he could feel blood running down his face mixed with his sweat and was unable to open one of his eyes. His right side was killing him...probably a few broken ribs. He was finally alone now, working his hands and fingers around behind his back until he was able to take hold of his pinky ring with the blue star set into it. He pried the stone up with his thumbnail then turned it, pushing the stone back in place into it's setting.

He'd just activated a personal miniaturized tracking device that Illya had designed, and given him as a birthday gift. It had a limited range and hoped that U.N.C.L.E. was spreading out looking for him.

Illya removed the headphones,realizing there was nothing to be gleaned from the converstions between Denman and Anderson; promising himself that he would eventually have it out with Anderson one day. He moved his attention to a radar screen in the console, turning it on as he adjusted the frequency. There was a weak blip...showing north of their positon. Illya smiled as he knew Napoleon had just activated his ring.

"George," he called to the front of the van," start the engine, back it out and head left and drive slowly."

George did as he had been instructed then as he moved down the block he spoke " How far do I drive Illya?"

"Just keep diving slowly George, I will tell you when to stop."

The van continued down the street, traveling three blocks form Changs, then the signal changed in it's intensity.

"George, make a right turn here."

Another few hundred yards and now the signal had become it's strongest. "Alright stop, pull over here."

Illya pointed to a storefront warehouse. The sign in front of it read 'Lucky Bird Trading Company," and had the picture of a Thrush on it and Illya shook his head, wondering at the absurdity of it. Subtlety was never their forté.

"O.K. George, I need you to contact headquarters in fifteen minutes requesting backup at this location...let them know you have located Mr. Solo."

"But what about you?"

"I am going inside the warehouse." Knowing that George might do something stupid; Illya ordered him to wait in the van for the backup."Once the backup arrives, you need to direct them to the warehouse, but you stay in the van; we do not want any of the bad guys stealing our equipment? And remember George. I was never here...you never saw me. You got me?"

"Understood...partner." George smiled.

Kuryakin climbed out of the van, drawing his Walther from his shoulder holster as he moved carefully across the empty street to the warehouse entrance. The door was locked, so he pulled a thin wire from the lapel of his jacket, placing it into the lock. Then he pulled out the crown on his wrist watch, turning it, then pushed it back in. There was a small ppffft and a whisp of smoke. He turned the handle and the door opened quietly. He stepped inside carefully, walking along the walls that were barely lit by dim overhead lights, following them until he came to another door, conveniently marked 'basement.'

He opened it, moving down the stairs; hearing voices from below. He stopped moving for a moment, cocking his head as he listened carefully to what was being said.

It was not the voice he expected...not Angelique; it was Serena, speaking to her minions. He continued tip-toeing down the stairs until he reached another door at the bottom.

He caught a quick glance through a small window. Serena and two men were standing near a figure seated in a chair directly under a ceiling light. Once one of them moved; he could see it was the unconscious figure of his partner.

Illya opened the door in one quick motion, catching them by surprise as he darted the two men.

"Do not move Serena." he warned, "Now where is your friend Angelique?"

Serena seemed genuinely confused by his question.

"Oh Illya Kuryakin, you clever little Russian. You found me much sooner than I had anticipated, but as for Angelique; I am afraid she is not in on this little deal." she sighed, " and now you've ruined all my fun? She reached for a pack of cigarettes on the table, pulling one for herself.

"Would you care to give me a light dear?"

"Oh no. I am not falling for that old trick...a puff of sleep gas from the cigarette. I do not think so?"

"Yes Illya you are right, that is so old." Serena blew into the cigarette, sending a tiny dart into Kuryakin's neck. He staggered trying to control himself enough to fire his gun as he clasped a hand to his throat, pulling the miniscule needle from him. But then he fell to his knees, dropping forward to his hands.

Serena stepped past him. "Peut-être une autre fois, petit chien_perhaps another time little dog." she laughed as she disappeared up the stairs.


	13. Chapter 13

Illya shook his head, trying to desperately fight off the effects of the drug as he struggled to pull himself to his feet. He staggered to his partner; checking for a pulse and was relieved to find him alive, but unconscious.

Then he remembered George, sitting helplessly in the van. Illya moved unsteadily up the stairs, worried if Serena had gotten to him. If George had been hurt; he could never forgive himself. That would surely be the final weight added to tilt the scales against him. He had unwittingly made the man an innocent pawn in his own gambit.

He left the building, crossing the steet to the van, finding George's head slumped to his chest and Illya's heart sank. He was too late.

But then he saw that he was breathing. He slammed his hand on the window, calling his name.

"George! Open the door, try to open it! I need to get you some help...please do not die?"

Dennell opened his eyes with a start, then rolled down the window. "Oh God Illya, I'm sorry I must have nodded off. It's kind of past my bed time you know," he smiled sheepishly.

Illya was momentarily ovewhelmed thinking he had gotten him killed, he did not know whether to hit or hug the man; then he focused his thoughts, "George did you call for the backup?"

"I did exactly what you told me...waited fifteen minutes."

"Good job, thank you. Napoleon is in the basement, unconscious. There are two Thrushmen there out cold as well. Go tie them up and wait there until the backup team arrives and here, take this." Kuryakin handed him his special.

"O.K. Illya, but this is getting kind of weird? What do I tell them?"

"It will be fine, just remember, I was never here? By the way did you happen to see a woman leave the warehouse?

"Yeah, a pretty blond...was she the damsel in distress? You guys always get to help the damsel in distress don't you?"

Illya shook his head in disbelief, then stopped as it began to throb. Thrush concontions always gave him a terrible headache. "Right George, she was the damsel. Now if they ask you how you found Napoleon; tell them you just had a hunch and it was pure luck that you got to him...right"

"Check?" George answered, scratching his head.

"I am going to take the van and leave it parked near headquarters for you to return to the motorpool later."

"Yes please?" George said, "I signed for it, I'm responsible for it you know."

"Do not worry I will take good care of it, I promise."

Illya Kuryakin disappeared into the night, as minutes later the back up team from headquarters arrived, finding George Dennell guarding Napoleon Solo and the Thrush captives.

The next morning George stood in Alexander Waverly's office.

"Astounding, simply astounding Mr. Dennell."

"Well sir I was in the vicinity sir and I'd heard that Mr. Solo was missing and I just had a feeling..."

"Hhhmm, at least it ended well Mr. Dennell, but in the future when you have any such feelings, please let me know and I'll see it is addressed immediately. I would prefer that, instead of having section two agents coming in after the fact. It was quite a dangerous thing that you did, and I'd prefer it if you stick to your area of expertise in the future?"

"Yes sir," he said then turned to leave, but then suddenly remembered something. "Oh I don't think I'll be needing this anymore." He reached into his jacket, pulling out an U.N.C.L.E. special; laying it on Waverly's conference table.

"Thank you Mr. Dennell that will be all."

Illya had arrived early for his physical therapy session then from there he visited Napoleon as he was being treated for minor cuts and bruises and would be released from medical later in the afternoon. Napoleon was in completely astounded that it was George Dennell who had affected his rescue from Serena.

The two agents wondered where Angelique had fit into the picture and Napoleon thought perhaps that she was going to warn him about after Serenas presence.

"She did tell me that she owed me one back in East Berlin,"Napoleon said," maybe she was trying to pay me back?"

Illya just shrugged,"Stranger things have been known to happen my friend. But perhaps she was just having Serena do her dirty work for her? By the way, where did you hide the microdot?"

"I'll never tell," Solo winked, "no seriously after you warned me about Angelique's presence; I thought she was going to pull something, so I dropped the microdot in the mail."

"You did _what_?"

"I placed it under a stamp and I mailed it to myself care of the special address for the Honolulu headquarters. I heard it arrived this morning express mail. Worked very effieciently, don't you think?"

"Napoleon that was rather risky; it could have gotten lost in the post?"

"Well better that then Thrush getting their hands on it?" Napoleon answered.

Kuryakin looked at his watch seeing that it was time for his appointment with Dennison. "I have to go Napoleon, I am glad you are alright my friend."

"Me too tovarisch." he smiled, deciding not to ask Illya how he was doing as the question seemed to cause more harm than good, but made mental note that his partner seemed to be in better spirits and hoped this was a sign that he was on the mend. Then he wondered what it was that had improved his spirits.

Illya walked down the hall and around the corner to the doctor's office, knocking before he entered.

"Oh good Illya, right on time, come on in and have a seat."

He noticed that Masur had his file on the desk and had been reading it when he walked into the room.

"So what's going on?"

"Going on?" repeated the Russian.

"Not literally, it's just a way of opening a conversation. Have you been thinking of anything in particular since we last spoke?"

"As a matter of fact doctor, yes."

"And that is?"

Illys bit his lower lip, hesitating. I am not sure if I can say just yet."

"That's fine. You don't have to talk about it if you feel uncomfortable. Something else perhaps?"

"I have become very much away that I have not been one of the most social of people and I have been thinking that it might be time for me to change behave that behavior?"

"Really? What brought you to this conclusion?"

"Being alone. I have cut everyone off from me since I have returned home."

"But Illya, you are a loner. You have always been a loner from what I can see according to your profile. You have never had problems functioning in this manner...that would be a major life-style change for you. Why now?"

"Doctor, I have always remained aloof out of circumstance and then of course out of training, but more so out of necessity. The environment in which I was raised and trained taught me to trust no one...to remain solitary and secretive. It was a matter of survival and after my last..." he paused, searching for the right words," close call, I realized that people care a lot about me and I have not been fully reciprocal towards them.

"Any one specific that you'd care to name?"

"Napoleon." You see, I have never been able to reveal things about myself to him as he has about himself to me. I asked myself, how many times does this man have to prove himself to me before I will let myself fully trust him?"

"I was able to give that trust to my wife...actually well before she became my wife, but not with Napoleon. Yet this man that I call brother and friend has saved my life at risk to his own time and time again."

"Do you feel you owe him?

"Yes"

"But haven't you saved his life countless times as well."

"Yes I have."

"Then what is it you feel you owe him?"

"I need to be a better friend to him as he has been to me...friends talk, they share things, personal feelings, thoughts...personal information. This I have never done with Napoleon, though he has with me."

"Why is that Illya?"

"I am afraid Dr. Masur. It is all about fear. Since I was little, I was told, the more people know about you, the greater the risk of being killed. Trust no one...has been drilled into me all my adult life."

"You don't trust Napoleon?"

"No...I mean yes, I do trust him."

"But only to a point, " said Masur.

"I have trusted him with my life?

"But have you trusted him with your heart and soul?"

"No."

"Illya does Naploeon know anything personal about you at all? And I mean from when you were young, not since you were married."

"Very little and that I am sure he gleaned from my dossier."

"And yet as little as this man knows about you, he still calls you his friend?"

"And brother."

"Then tell me, what is the most personal thing about you that Napoleon does know?"

Illya clenched his jaw and Masur could see that he was struggling with this; beginning to become upset.

"It's alright. You don't have to tell me."

"No I have to say it. It is part of my fear." Illya stuttered as he continued. " Napoleon knows about it and had it kept out my records."

"Did you ask him to do that for you?"

"No, he took it upon himself to do it."

"Why was that?'

Illya lower his head. "Becaude he knew it would shame and humiliate me."

"What happened?"

He shook his head, refusing to say.

"Illya, I remind you nothing, and I repeat, nothing goes beyond this room. My reports only discuss progress not the details of any session.

"I have your word, this will not go in any report?"

"Absolutely."

Illya took a deep breath, then spoke quietly. " I was raped, multiple times while being held prisoner in the Solovki gulag in Russia. This prison was the same camp where my grandfather died."

Illya stared at the doctor and Masur could see the Russian's eyes welling up."You're right, that's not in any of your files. And don't worry, I will not add it into your records, I promise."

"All my life,"Illya said, "I have managed to defend myself from such a thing. I have always been targeted I suppose because I was not a very big and was told I was a 'pretty boy.' Illya held back a sob.

"Can you tell me how it happened?"

Illya took a few minutes to compose himself.

"I had been moved to solitary confinement after fighting to protect another prisoner...a man named Yakov. I may have known him as a child on the streets of Kyiv when I was living in the ruins of the city after the Nazi occupation; I helped a group of orphans to survive the Russian winter. Yakov spoke of a blond blue-eyed boy who save him in Kyiv. I was never able to speak with him again; I think the other prisoners killed him.

After being made odinochka...I am sorry, that is Russian term for solitary man, they cut my food rations to even less than starvation level. The guard, an apparatchik named Lazar' attacked me. He came in to rape me day after day and I became so weak that I could not defend myself." Illya finally let out a sob, " I gave up and let him do it to me."

"Did you want to defend yourself?"

"Yes."

"So you're saying you couldn't defend yourself?"

Illya nodded, as his clasped hands shook in front of him.

"How many times did it happen to you?"

"I was raped once by..."he started to tell about Voelker but then asked himself what was the point. "It happened five times."

"Tell me how you felt and I am not referring to the physical pain, the first time it happened.

"Anger. I felt very angry."

"Were you angry at him?"

"No at myself. I was angry that I had failed to defend myself.

"But you couldn't defend yourself, you were too weak weren't you? And the second time you were raped. How did you feel then?"

"Afraid. I felt fear, helplessness."

"Those are normal responses."

"No, I am a trained agent...I am supposed to be resist and.."

"And not to be afraid?"

Illya nodded.

"You're human, and allowed to be afraid."

"Sometimes I feel as though I am always afraid," he finally admitted. "After the third time it happened, the fear intensified. I felt almost consumed by it. I believed I was going to die; that was when I gave up."

But Illya you were rescued."

"Through no effort on my part."he replied.

"How did you feel when you finally came home?"

"Empty, inadequate...weak, both mentally and physically."

"Now please don't be offended Illya, when you returned home, were you able to make love to your wife?"

"No"

"No as in you won't tell me?"

"No, I was not able to."

"Has this ever happened before?'

"No."

"Why do you think that happened?"

"I no longer felt like a man."

"You have been often tortured when you are out in the field haven't you?"

"Yes, quite often."

"Did it make you feel any less a man?"

"No."

"And how have you dealt with it."

"It was and is part of the risk of the job. I just let it go, I try to no longer think about it."

"What makes having been raped any different from another form of torture that has been committed against you?"

"I suppose there is no difference?"

Masur paused for a moment, rubbing his chin with his hand. "Who are you?" he finally asked.

"I do not understand the question?

"Who are you?"

"I am Illya Nickovich Kuryakin."

"And where are you from?"

"I am from Kyiv."

"And how did you come to be here from Kyiv, to grow up to be the man you are today?"

"I survived...yes, I _survived_."

"That's right Illya, you survived. Just like you always do."

"When you've gone out on missions, have you let fear control you?"

"Not really."

"So you control your fear?"

"Yes."

"You do this all the time?"

"Yes, I control it but it has always been part of my life; fear of failure, of betrayal, fear of dying, fear of intimacy,fear of being pitied...of having friends and family. But I have controlled them and hidden them away from others as well as myself, denying much. But I never felt ashamed.

"So you were never ashamed when you were beaten. whipped or tortured in the past when you've been captured?"

"No"

"So all that torture you've endured over the years, you had to resist mentally, because you couldn't physically fight back. But you would have resisted if you could have? Mansur repeated the question.

"Yes."

The rape was just another form of torture, one that you had never experienced before. But you couldn't stop it, the torture of being raped. Why should you have felt ashamed? There was no wrong-doing on your part."

"I am...a trained agent, I am supposed to be able to defend myself. I felt imasculated. I no longer felt like man, just a thing to be fucked again and again." Illya began to shake.

"You've had enough for today,"said Mansur," Pehaps we could continue tomorrow then same time tomorrow?"

Illya pulled himself up to his full height, coming to the realization that Dr. Mansur, Napoleon, Elliott and even his little son were all right. He had been tortured and had done nothing wrong. Had he the chance and ability to resist, then he would have just as he always had, and now he knew that he always would.

"No Doctor, I do not think I will need to see you again. I think I have gained a proper perspective on what happened to me. Like some of my other fears, I can put it away now, in it's own compartment, but I will not forget it and will learn by it."

"Good Illya, that's very good." Mansur smiled, "so now do you still feel the need to unburden yourself of anything else of a personal nature? As I said that is a major life style change for you."

"Yes Dr. Mansur, I think it is time to let go of some of my other fears as well, mainly the fear of my past... Napoleon and I are overdue for a long talk. Thank you for helping me see the truth."

"You did it Illya not me, and you're right, I think our visits are done for now. I will file my report with Mr. Waverly that you are certified for return to the field once you've completed your physical therapy. However, if you ever feel the need to talk about anything in the future, or if you just want to shoot the breeze, my door is always open to you."

"Shoot the breeze,"Illya smiled feigning ignorance.

Mansur laughed, getting the Russian's joke.

"Yes Doctor, I would like to shoot the breeze sometime."

Illya offered his hand again to the man. "Thank you Dr. Mansur."

At that moment Dr. Mansur's telephone rang. He spoke briefly then hung up the receiver.

"Illya that was Lisa Rogers, you need to go to Mr. Waverly's office before you leave headquarters. I'm going next door for a few minutes, you just sit and compose yourself. Alright?"

"Yes Doctor, thank you."

Fifteen minutes later Illya walked into Waverly's conference room.

"Ah yes Mr. Kuryakin, good news about Mr. Solo eh what?"

"Yes sir, I saw him in medical this morning, just some minor cuts and bruises."

"Thankfully so," Waverly said, " if it hadn't been for your timely warning about Angelique DuChien we might have lost both the microdot and Mr. Solo."

"It was actually Serena, Angelique's protegée, from what I understand." Illya lied.

"Yes, quite. Makes me wonder what Miss DuChien's role was in this? I understand your sessions with Dr. Mansur are going well."

"Actually they are finished. His report and my recertification should be on your desk shortly."

"Hhmm, just as I suspected. Well that will be all Mr. Kuryakin."

As Illya turned to leave Waverly called him back to the table. "Oh and I believe you will be wanting this back."

He spun the table around to him, stopping the tray in front of him with his Walther laying upon it. Illya's eyes widened for a second. He picked it up, fingering his initial K on the hand grip then quickly slipped it into it's shoulder holster.

"Here it comes," Illya thought, knowing that he had violated his instructions.

"Now dismissed," Waverly said with a wink.

Illya smiled as he left the office, sure that Waverly knew what he had done to rescue Napoleon, yet he said nothing. No admonishment for going against orders. He shook his head, wondering about the unpredictability of his boss.

"Today had been a good day," he smiled to himself," maybe tomorrow would be better. And Illya found himself humming as he reached the reception desk, handing his badge to Wanda.

"I would like to aplogize for my rudeness yesterday, it was uncalled for...I am sorry."

"Thank you Illya, "she said," I appreciate it. But I do understand you section twos are under a lot of pressure and have bad days."

"That is no excuse Wanda." Illya leaned forward and gave her a little peck on the cheek. "but thank you for being so understanding?"

"Why Illya Kuryakin?" she said in surprise, " I so believe that Napoleon is finally rubbing off on you."

"I hope so? he smiled. "you have a good day."

Wanda was in shock, She rested her chin on her hand with a sigh and said dreamily. "Shame he's married."

As he walked up the steps from Del Florias a woman approached him cautiously.

"Angelique, back again so soon?"

"Illya, how is he?"

"Fine, no thanks to you."

"No, this was not my doing. I wanted to warn him of Serena. You have to believe me. I never got to him in time."

Illya looked into her beautiful eyes,"You know, I believe you...just this time," he said, "you really care how he is?"

"Believe it or not I do Illya. I do have a special place in my heart for that partner of yours. If I didn't; he would have been dead a long time ago," she smiled." so tell Napoleon, I still owe him."

"I will be sure to relay the message."

"Please do that darling. Ciao." she said, as she stepped into the taxi that had just pulled up for him.

Illya promised himself to deliver the message to his partner, but not just yet.

He hailed another cab, returning home to his son. Elliott was away on a courier job, but would be back by early evening.

It was after eight o'clock when she finally returned home, finding the house dark and quiet. She went upstairs checking on Demya tucked safely into his bed. Then when she went into the bedroom, she found Illya laying in bed waiting for her.

She sat on the edge next to him as he sat up.

"Are ye alright Illuysha?

Illya reached out, pulling his wife to him, kissing her passionately, then helped remove her clothing and they made love. After they finished for a second time, they lay wrapped together in each other's arms.

"Welcome back Illya Kuryakin, I missed you." she said as she gently stroked his face."I was afraid I had lost you."

"I was lost for a while moya lyubov', he whispered as he buried his face against her shoulder," but no longer."

Napoleon Solo approached a woman who was sitting at a table inside a small bistro in the middle of Manhattan; the smoke from her cigarette curled up around her platinum blond head as it disappeared into the air around her. She took a sip from her Bloody Mary, then glanced at her wristwatch.

"Angelique," he smiled, kissing her hand as he pulled up a chair beside her.

"Napoleon, it is good to see you up and about."she said as she handed him the glass of scotch that she had ordered for him.

"Thank you for thinking of warning me about Serena." he whispered.

"Ah, but I was too late, so you thank me for nothing, darling. I therefore still owe you."

"Tell you what, there is something you can do for me to settle that debt. There's a man in East Germany named Karl Voelker..."


End file.
